Crisscrossed
by Lynse
Summary: The Doctor didn't mean to land in 1969 London again. Certainly not with Donna in tow when his younger self was stuck there with Martha Jones. And he didn't mean to become a murder suspect, but it doesn't help that his only witness to the contrary is ghost Marty Hopkirk, the deceased half of the investigative duo Randall & Hopkirk, who hasn't anyone to tell besides his partner Jeff.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, here we have the Doctor and Donna, between _Forest of the Dead_ and _Midnight_, with the Doctor and Martha caught up in the events of _Blink_. But, this is a crossover, set in 1969. Enter Jeff Randall and Marty Hopkirk from the 1969 series _Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)._ (Apparently they did a remake later, but I've never seen it.) I'm setting this sometime after _The Man from Nowhere_, with _That's How Murder Snowballs_ being the main episode that I plan to use in tying this together. And, please, if I mix something up, someone point it out to me!

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this work of fiction!_

* * *

Three weeks, four days, twenty-one hours, forty-two minutes, and twelve seconds since they'd been stranded in 1969. The Doctor debated being more accurate, but admitting every picosecond he'd been separated from the TARDIS hurt. It wasn't easy for a time traveller to be locked in one time, and it wasn't easy for a wandering alien to be restricted to one planet.

Sol 3—Earth—was one of his favourites, of course. Possibly the top of his list, now—even with the itch he had to get out and explore. Funny how that seemed to become worse when the cure was out of the question. He'd experienced something similar when he'd been exiled to Earth, back in his third regeneration, but that itch had at least been dulled by his job at UNIT, if only slightly.

Not that the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce had provided a particularly _big_ challenge for him, not on its own, since most of what he'd found with them had been, well…. Not _less exciting_ than what he could have found in a different galaxy, exactly, but more…. Predictable, perhaps, because he'd been reliant on whatever had crashed to Earth or whatever ingenious thing the humans themselves had been able to invent. Sure, they'd _uncovered_ a number of things, but the Doctor had been relieved when his fellow Time Lords had at least granted him limited use of the TARDIS, even if he had kept getting sent back to Earth, pulled back into the 20th century like a yo-yo on a string.

But this time…. This time, the Doctor had known beforehand that his exile was coming. Not that it was really an exile; he'd gotten Martha, his current companion, stuck here with him. He'd known about the Weeping Angels at Wester Drumlins, and he'd tried to be careful, but somehow….

Was it a sign of his age that it had slipped his mind? They'd heard the tales of the disappearances, of course, but he hadn't connected it, not in time. Thankfully, that was a rare occurrence. Just as thankfully, he had the folder of information Sally Sparrow had given him tucked safely away in his pocket. He'd known that it was going to happen sometime, after all. Martha had been touched first, sent away to 1969 in the blink of an eye. And he had been on his guard, oh yes, but he'd known he'd be next. Evading them would have caused a paradox, and he wasn't up to dealing with one just yet.

But a paradox wasn't as easy to avoid as he'd led Martha to believe. He hadn't figured out how to track down Katherine Wainwright to convince her to write Sally Sparrow a letter, complete with photographs, let alone urge her to have her grandson deliver it at the time of her disappearance in 2007. He wasn't sure he could just leave it to chance, but if he did come across her, he couldn't be too convincing. The letter wasn't to be written until the 1980s. Plus, they had yet to encounter Billy Shipton, to convince him to take a message to Sally Sparrow, and to guide him into a new career of publishing—books, videos, DVDs—instead of law enforcement.

They hadn't had time to make the video for the DVD Easter egg, though he'd found a nice little recording studio in which to do it. He still had his sonic screwdriver and psychic paper, at least; breaking in wouldn't be a problem if they couldn't bluff their way in. He had finally decided to hand Billy a list of DVDs on which to hide the Easter egg, with a severe warning about the probable destruction of the greater part of the universe if he breathed a word of it to _anyone_. The detective inspector had kept his part of the bargain the first time, and all the Doctor had to do was make sure that no one dropped the ball in the beginning this time.

Fortunately, he and Martha had managed to get into Wester Drumlins to leave the writing on the wall, getting it _just so_, thanks to Sally's photographs. The current owners were still trying to sell the house, one they'd inherited and never inhabited, and he'd convinced them to try to increase its value by papering the walls—promptly volunteering to do it. Martha did her fair share of complaining over _that_, but she knew it had to be done by someone. And he had planned it, figuring out just how much glue to apply where to ensure that the paper would peel the way it did…. He'd enjoyed the calculations, but the papering itself was a bit too domestic for him.

It didn't seem that he could escape the domestic now, though. He spent his days holed up in the little flat they'd found, happily sending Martha out to work. It did take a bit of explaining to the curious neighbours, some of which were prejudiced against Martha for her colouring and the fact that an upstanding doctor such as himself would degrade himself in such a way by wedding a coloured woman. Martha had taken a certain amount of glee when concocting that cover story, though the Doctor wasn't sure why, and although he knew the comments stung, he'd always caught her failing to hide a grin when they overheard the whispers about the two of them being together.

He'd uncovered a wedding band in one pocket—how it came to be there, he couldn't say, but it was jumbled in with a few biodampers—and caused enough excitation and subsequent cooling of the molecules with his sonic screwdriver to readjust the ring to fit Martha's finger. She was a bit disappointed that he didn't have one, but he had managed to explain it away to the satisfaction of the neighbours. Most weren't so bad, accepting them for who they were and not blinking an eye about it.

Well, the majority _did_ raise a few eyebrows over the fact that Martha was the one holding a job, but he'd fabricated a sordid tale about being a dissatisfied doctor who was longing to improve the tools of his trade, so he'd decided to invent a few things on his own. It explained his frequent trips to second-hand stores and scrap yards and the like, and he didn't mind being branded as eccentric. He was quite happy to take that as a compliment.

The clock on the wall read 6:59, the second hand just ticking past the three. It was slow—two minutes and thirty-eight seconds slow, actually, if he was rounding. Martha's alarm hadn't gone off yet. Had she set it? The Doctor turned his head to look at her. She was sound asleep, tightly wrapped in the bed sheets, hair tousled over her pillow, completely oblivious to the world. Perhaps it would be better if he programmed the alarm to set itself off at quarter to each day, he thought, but then she'd be after him for not letting her get her beauty sleep or some such nonsense.

Sighing, the Doctor got up to wake her. He'd had to do it earlier in the week, too. Of course, she claimed that that was because he'd taken the alarm apart and hadn't put it together properly, which was a complete and utter lie. Well, maybe he _had_ removed one small piece for his timey-wimey detector, but it hadn't helped, so he'd replaced it. Then again, if he put it under the—no, no, it wouldn't work. He needed something else.

"Rise and shine, Martha. Brand new day," he murmured, touching her shoulder briefly to give her a gentle shake.

"Wha—?" Martha stirred, blinking blearily up at him. "What time is it?"

"Gone seven," the Doctor answered, knowing she wasn't in the mood for a precise answer.

"You were up again in the night, weren't you?" She stifled a yawn. "I heard you pacing. It must've been three in the morning."

"Half two, actually," the Doctor replied. "Didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever sleep?" Martha asked, still not making a move to leave the relative comfort of the bed.

The Doctor smiled gently at her. "I'll start your breakfast while you get set for work," he said instead.

Martha frowned. "You burnt everything last time you tried."

"I'll watch it more carefully," the Doctor promised. He could tell from the set of Martha's mouth that she wasn't about to trust him. No matter; the worry would give her a bit of speed.

It wasn't as if he _couldn't_ cook; he was just preoccupied. True, he was an expert at multitasking, but there were times when he was mulling over five or so different trains of thought at once, rather than sacrificing one to the menial task of toasting a bit of bread. And it wasn't as if they hadn't been able to clear the room of smoke without _too_ much trouble. He had even figured out that he'd need an old tape recorder reel for his timey-wimey detector, so some good did come of the entire incident.

Granted, he still hadn't managed to convince Martha of that, especially not after she'd been cleaning egg off the ceiling, walls, kitchen curtains, cupboards…. He really hadn't remembered that one egg would make such a mess. He _had_ known that boiling it dry while continuing to heat the egg would build up a fair bit of pressure—that was common sense—but he really hadn't thought it would go off with such a bang.

Fortunately for him, Martha was still tactfully not mentioning it, although she did glare at him every time he suggested that they could do with some more eggs, seeing as she needed her protein with breakfast. He planned to try needling her a bit next week; if he could surprise her, he'd be able to talk her into it in a matter of minutes—providing she listened to his spiel. At the very least, she'd probably agree to keep him quiet.

Toast, jam…. He'd been at this too long, really. He wasn't used to being cooped up. Wandering the streets of London didn't help much, but it was something. He could go looking for parts. Milk, juice…. Martha would understand if he was out late, and they did have two sets of keys. He could try pretending, if only for a moment, that the TARDIS was just around the corner, that they weren't separated, that the faint trace he felt in his mind wasn't of another TARDIS with a different one of his selves, either a past or future version. Either way, it wasn't a strong connection; it simply helped to ensure that he didn't run into himself.

Besides, he'd know the moment his own TARDIS landed, sent safely back to him by Sally Sparrow. Peanut butter, bac—burnt. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Martha would just be eating a couple extra-crispy pieces of bacon this morning. She'd be after him for that, of course. She'd intended it as a treat, to satisfy a craving, and here he was, ruining it. She'd forgive him, of course. Always did. Hardly even held a grudge after he apologized for the seventeenth time. But he could still hear her ranting at him, wondering why she let him out of her sight, since no matter how accomplished he claimed to be, he still couldn't do a simple task like making a spot of breakfast….

He had been stuck in one place too long, no doubt about it.

* * *

"Brand new world out there, Donna," the Doctor said with a grin, looking at her from the other side of the console. "Well, new to you. Nyxa 4 has been renowned for years for its silver seas and, oh, _beau_tiful sunrises. Stunning. Brilliant. Painter's paradise, really, and some of the prints, well…. Depending on the quality and grade, you could pay a pretty penny for one of them. Some of the holographic ones are cheap rip-offs, so I'd avoid those. You're better off sticking with a tried-and-true canvas type, actually, if something strikes your fancy. Better quality in the long run. Not to mention easier to explain, should anyone see it."

Donna gave him a weak smile. "Don't expect you'd let me keep anything too out of the ordinary," she said. She wouldn't admit it, but even after a couple of trips, she was still feeling the effects of their time in The Library. The Doctor was doing his best to cheer her up, she knew, and she did appreciate it, really, but…. She'd felt as if she'd spent a lifetime there. Married to a gorgeous bloke who adored her, with his cute stutter that never really went away, and raising their two beautiful children, Ella and Josh—but no. It was a lie. And the truth hurt.

She was doing her best to get over it. There were times when she could almost forget how much it hurt. And the way the Doctor was going on about this place, Nyxa 4, with its wondrous scenery, stretching beaches, silver seas, brilliant sunrises…. Well, she could move on. She could nearly lose herself in a sense of awe or the breathlessness of an adventure. And she loved it, every single moment of it, even…even the things that stung.

She'd welcomed the suggestion of taking a vacation. She hadn't gotten many before, not since her childhood. And she'd never been pampered. She'd never tell the Doctor, of course, but she wouldn't mind just one stint to see what it was like to be waited on hand-and-foot. Nyxa 4 had some great resorts, the Doctor told her. And if she wasn't satisfied, then he knew just the place to go. A little planet called Midnight, he said. Hadn't been there himself, but he'd heard stories. He was sure she'd love it.

"C'mon, Donna," the Doctor continued, picking up his long brown coat from where he'd slung it on one of the TARDIS's coral supports after their last trip. "Sunrise in two minutes; don't want to miss it!"

Donna pushed her ill musings aside and let a warm feeling fill her. This was what she wanted, this travelling, this exploring. A life of adventure. And if there were some stops along the way where the adventure wasn't of the life-and-death kind, then she welcomed a break. The worlds beyond the door of the TARDIS promised to be alien to her, and she'd be able to explore them with a child's wonder. What she found always seemed to take her mind off other things, anyway.

"Not on your life, Martian boy," she shot back, running down the ramp to join the Doctor at the door to the exterior world. She threw it open, rushing out without even looking—

—and promptly found herself standing in pouring rain. The Doctor strolled out to join her, and she wasted no time in demanding an explanation.

"Did you even _look_ at the scanner?" Donna asked, the annoyance in her voice clear. "Some beautiful sunrise. You're a worse pilot than…than…." She trailed off, staring at the Doctor.

He had frozen outside of the closed TARDIS door, his hand still resting on its handle. He had his eyes tightly shut and stood so still that Donna wasn't sure he was breathing. She wouldn't have put it past him to not _need_ to breathe, strange as he was, but even she knew something was wrong. He looked too pale.

A moment passed, then another, and suddenly his eyes flew open. Grinning at her, he began chattering away as if nothing had happened. She wasn't having any of it, so she slapped him. Sent reeling backwards into the side of the TARDIS, the shock silenced him. Taking advantage of that, Donna began her tirade. "Now look here, spaceman, you don't go on about taking me to these exotic places, get it wrong, and then freeze up the moment we're here! Not without an explanation. And you'd better have a good one, because I'll have your head if you don't. And don't you dare try to shrug it off, because I'll be after you until you explain something, and you'd better explain it well!" The Doctor opened his mouth, but she cut him off, adding, "And you'd better open that door, because I'm not exactly dressed for this weather, in case you didn't notice."

The Doctor let her back into the TARDIS, ignoring the fact that she had her own key, but waited outside. When she returned, wrapping her cardigan more tightly around her, she levelled him with a glare and said, "Well?"

"We're in London," he said. She couldn't place his tone, but thought it was most like his pensive one. "In 1969."

"And?"

"And I'm not sure why." A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth for a second and then he'd schooled his features again. "But I expect we'll find out. Come on." He started walking off, and she had no choice but to follow him.

* * *

Money was tight. But for Jeff Randall, it always was. A little over twelve months ago, he had been partners with Marty Hopkirk. They had run their own detective agency and managed to get by for the most part, though he'd had to pay Jeannie, Marty's wife, with jewellery a few times in lieu of her salary. But Marty's luck had run out one night.

Jeff still regretted that he'd sent his partner to finish up checking what had been his case, and he blamed himself for what happened, silly as that may be. Marty, using skills honed from years in the business, had become suspicious. When some of his suspicions had been confirmed and things had begun to add up, well…. It wasn't a hit-and-run accident that had killed him, Jeff knew. He'd even managed to catch the murderer. But he wouldn't have been able to do that if he hadn't had help, and his informer knew the details quite well. It was Marty himself.

Jeff hadn't believed it immediately, of course. He remembered the phone calls clearly and his anger when he'd answered to hear someone impersonating Marty on the other end of the line. He'd asked for no more calls to be put through that night, but the phone still rang. He'd tried sleeping it off, thinking things would look better in the morning, but, well…. Marty had called him to the cemetery, and he'd gone there as if in a trance. Even the next morning, he hadn't been entirely convinced, but Marty had turned up again the next night. He'd insisted that he had been murdered.

Jeff had nearly been killed for uncovering the truth. Marty had saved him, but at a cost; he was doomed to be a ghost for a hundred years, walking the earth without returning to his grave, simply because he'd been caught out in the daylight. Finding himself with a surplus of free time on his hands, they had continued the business as usual…almost. Jeannie had no idea that Marty was back, since he'd chosen to appear to Jeff, and she had caught Jeff talking to Marty more than once. She'd thought he'd gone round the twist and even managed to have him committed. Sure, they'd muddled through it somehow, and Marty was still Jeff's secret informer, but rumours didn't die easily. Particularly when Scotland Yard became involved.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, Jeff would admit that a tiny part of him wanted something terrible to happen to someone. He wasn't proud of that part of himself, but he couldn't deny its existence, however insignificant it was. He lived off the misfortune of others. Murders, infidelity, disappearances…. If London didn't have more than its share of shameful incidents and horrors, then he wouldn't have a job.

Sure, there were times when he'd been called out to investigate strange occurrences—or ghosts, as the occupants of a few haunted houses had been convinced—but it never had been due to an actual ghost. Well, there was the one time, with Bugsy, who was a ghost as a result of a death wish; he'd sworn to kill his 'partner' who had gunned him down. Marty had been scared stiff when investigating the other ghosts, but Jeff figured he was too shocked to realize that the American gangster actually _was_ another ghost to be afraid. Of course, considering Bugsy had been a bootlegger during the Prohibition in the States, whatever fear Marty had felt was justified. A ghost may not be solid to the living, but it was a different story with the dead.

It had been that particular case with Bugsy that showed Marty how little he knew about being a ghost. Over the past months, Marty had discovered and honed his skills, be it walking through walls, shaking coffee cups, or stirring up breezes. He did have a lot of free time on his hands, Jeff reasoned, and he wasn't _always _popping off to join the Prime Minister for lunch. Marty would stop by to see Jeannie frequently, but Jeff was the only one he could hold a proper conversation with. He had yet to run into another ghost since Bugsy, and the only other people who could see him were psychics. Jeff knew he wasn't the most open-minded sort of person out there, but if he hadn't seen people talking to Marty as Marty (rather than, say, Marty the park duck), he wouldn't have believed anyone really could be psychic.

"I think I might be on to something, Jeff."

Jeff jumped, looking up at Marty, who stood in front of his desk. "Talk of the devil," he muttered to himself. "What were you looking into now?" he asked, keeping his voice even. No need to get his hopes up.

Marty frowned at him, as if sensing his underlying scepticism. "I wasn't _looking into _anything. I overheard some people talking. There's something on the streets, Jeff, but the police haven't found anything and no one's been able to prove that anything's off. People are unsettled."

"Unsettled people won't pay for business," Jeff pointed out.

"Well, no," Marty allowed, "but they will when something happens. It's got to be something if they've called the police out."

"But evidently they never found anything, and I'm not likely to find anything new." Jeff watched Marty for a moment and decided to add, "But you don't normally want to go off chasing ghosts; why the sudden interest?"

"I'm worried about Jeannie," Marty confided, ignoring Jeff's choice of expression.

"Jeannie?" Jeff repeated. "Marty, it's fine. She's fine. There's nothing out there. I would have heard something before this if there was."

"Just promise me you'll keep checking on her," Marty pleaded. "They're saying that people have disappeared. I want her to be safe."

"Marty, you have to stop eavesdropping, because clearly you aren't catching the entire conversation. If people have disappeared, the police would still be looking for someone, I would have heard about it, and, if I was lucky, the family of the poor sod who mysteriously vanished into thin air would be crossing that threshold right now." Jeff gestured to the empty office doorway.

"I've got a feeling, Jeff," Marty protested, still worried about his widow. "I think those people were murdered."

"The last time you thought people were murdered, I nearly ended up in jail!"

"But I was right. I know what I saw then, and I know what I feel now. It's—"

"Feelings don't hold as much water as witnessing something," Jeff reminded him. "Pop off and investigate if you want, Marty, but I'm not doing anything from here." He picked up a handful of papers from his desk and shook them, pointedly adding, "The paperwork doesn't go away."

Marty went off, probably to check on Jeannie himself, and Jeff dropped the papers back to his desk. Half of them were bills, and he had to find a way to pay them somehow. If Marty's disappearances turned anything up, then he'd be grateful, he supposed, but until then, he had to figure something out without counting on an imaginary paycheque.


	2. Chapter 2

Martha paused outside the door, listening, wondering if the Doctor was back yet. It had been another hard day at work, despite her getting off early for once, but she enjoyed it, though she wouldn't tell the Doctor that. The corner shop had been the only one to hire her, and frankly she was lucky she'd gotten the job in the first place. She'd even built a few tentative friendships, despite knowing they couldn't last. It made getting through the day easier.

She let herself in, locking the door behind her, and wandered into the living room. "Doctor?" she called out. "You back yet?"

A grunt answered her. She'd thought she'd heard some scuffling noises earlier. He must have found something, then, or he wouldn't be back so early. He was as restless as a caged animal. She hoped it wouldn't be much longer, but seeing as they hadn't even run into Billy Shipton….

She'd pored over Sally Sparrow's folder nearly as much as the Doctor had, so she knew what to keep an eye out for, but sometimes she wondered how long it would take. Not that she really _minded_ being stuck with the Doctor or feeling his ring around her finger—another thing she'd never tell him. But even with their close quarters, she hadn't learned much about him. He wore the same suit every day, and cute as it was, she wondered if he had a couple extras tucked up in one of his pockets or if he was doing laundry while she slept or if he just didn't sweat as much as humans. But something was going on, at any rate; she was sure she'd seen him get something on it, and the next morning, the stain was gone. He couldn't be as hopelessly helpless in all domestic matters as he led her to believe.

"What did you get?" she asked, spotting him doing _something_ under her kitchen sink. If he left her to clean up another flood….

"I was trying for a transitional conductor to link the main reel to the compulsion chamber, and I thought that if I wrapped a bit of copper wire around the…."

Martha stopped listening to his words, not even bothering to smile and nod, seeing as the Doctor wasn't looking at her. Some things just went over her head, no matter how much she may wish they didn't, if only so that she could partake in a real discussion with the Doctor and not look like a complete fool. "And you're taking apart the sink, why?"

"Lead piping. I'm going to try lining the secondary channel along the primary inlet. It should reduce interference."

Thinking it best to jump in before he continued, Martha said, "But I'm going to be able to use the sink once you're done, right?"

"I picked up a spare part for a replacement," came the reply. "Copper; better for you."

"Right. As long as it's sealed." Martha thought back to the gossip she'd heard in the shop during the day. "So when you were out scavenging, did you hear about anything unusual?"

"Didn't run into anybody," the Doctor answered. There was a scraping sound and a delighted 'ah ha!' from the man beneath the sink. "Got it!" he crowed, rolling out and onto his feet to wave a bit of piping in her face. "Due for a replacement, anyway; just _look_ at that calcium build up around the joint. I'll have to clean it up before I can use it. Don't suppose you'd want to do that while I fit the other bit in?"

"Not particularly, no," Martha replied shortly. "But do you know what I heard?"

"Nope."

The Doctor was intent on fiddling with something again. She waited, but he didn't press her to continue. She did so of her own accord, desperate to have some sort of conversation. "People have been talking for weeks about these disappearances," Martha began. "I told you before, remember? It was just street people; no one missed them, not at first. But according to the grapevine, they just dragged a body out of the Thames; the guy didn't have a mark on him."

"And what are your thoughts on that?" the Doctor asked, back under a sink, hopefully fixing it.

"Well, it's not likely to be suicide, since the others who disappeared are probably going to be found in a similar state. You don't often hear about mass drownings." Martha waited a moment before adding, "So maybe it's something we could look into. Seeing as we're here, I mean."

"You think it's alien?" queried the Doctor, still in a conversational tone.

"Well, it might be," she persisted, not put off. "Shrouded in mystery like it is. And we always find them, you and me. Together. It's not just coincidence."

"Isn't it?" the Doctor asked. "I rather thought it was."

He was in one of those moods again. "Just…maybe we can look into it, yeah? Stave off a bit of cabin fever?"

"Mmhmm…. Ah, there we go!" Scrambling to his feet again, a somewhat dishevelled Doctor flashed her a brilliant grin. "There's your sink, Martha Jones, ready and waiting." He fished the old piece of piping from his pocket. "I'll be back in a bit; just need to match this with—" The Doctor stopped abruptly.

"What?" Martha asked, alarmed. The Doctor didn't respond; with his eyes tightly shut, he couldn't even see the concern that she was sure was written all over her face. "Oh, my god," she said, trying not to panic. "Doctor!"

Nothing.

Biting her lip, she felt for his pulse…and then remembered that she wasn't sure what was normal for him. He didn't respond to her touch, and she ran to search out a thermometer. Finally finding one—she'd insisted on it after catching a nasty bout of the flu shortly after they arrived here, something the Doctor said had to do with time travel without a capsule weakening the immune system of lesser species, which she had pointedly ignored—she pried his mouth open and shoved it inside. He didn't feel cold and clammy or overly warm to the touch, but all the blood had drained from his face and he still wasn't moving.

After a moment, she checked the thermometer. And checked it again. "Sixty degrees?" Martha said aloud, unable to believe it. "My god, that's profound hypothermia. He shouldn't even be—" She stopped, peering closer at him. Was he even breathing? She held a hand in front of his mouth, hoping to feel him exhale.

The Doctor opened his eyes and blinked at her, causing her to yank her hand away, and then his face split into a wide smile. "Sorry about that; brief temporal disturbance. Just needed to catalogue it. Keep an eye out for anything unusual if you like, but it shouldn't be anything to worry about." He noticed the thermometer in her hand and craned his neck to read it. "Well, looks like I'm still healthy as ever." The grin became lopsided.

"But…but you can't be…."

"Core temperature," the Doctor explained. "Back in a bit. Just need to run down to the scrap yard. Shouldn't be long."

"But…what _was _that?"

"Told you—brief temporal disturbance; nothing to worry about."

"But you just…_stood _there, unresponsive. I thought you were having some sort of fit!"

The Doctor gave her a soft smile. "I'm fine, Martha, really. Can't drop dead on you and leave you here by yourself, can I? Wouldn't be polite, and I'm _much_ too busy." The smile grew into a bright grin and then he was gone, out the door before she thought to get a word in edgewise.

His words weren't much comfort after that episode he'd had. She hadn't seen him do that before, ever. He was the Doctor; he didn't freeze up. She counted on him. He acted as if nothing was wrong, but he always did. Would she ever know when he was acting and when he really was fine? It was frustrating. She wanted to help, but she couldn't. She just hoped that the Doctor wouldn't be too reckless.

* * *

Marty Hopkirk had been on the scene when they'd dragged the body from the Thames. He hadn't been able to spot anything unusual there, but he'd continued investigating anyway. Jeff would still be insisting that it was all in his mind. Yes, he admitted that he worried too much, but, well, Jeannie _needed_ protection and Jeff didn't always believe that. That, or sometimes Marty had the feeling Jeff was a little _too_ willing to protect Jeannie. It was a fine line.

It was getting late now; people were off work and most had found their way home. The streets weren't as busy as before, at least, and it had stopped drizzling. Wandering off the main streets and into a more residential area, Marty even found it rather quiet. It would have been quite peaceful, actually, if it weren't for one couple arguing just up the street. Granted, it did seem like an entirely one-sided argument, but it was an argument nonetheless.

"…don't even know _what_ you were thinking," the red-headed woman was complaining as Marty passed them. The man was bearing it remarkably well, walking beside her with his hands in the pockets of his blue pinstriped suit, having the good grace to keep quiet. "'I know a shortcut!' you say. 'We can just nip over through here,' you say. Never mind that they've built a bloody rail line through it. I must have been out of my head to listen to you _again_. I'll bet you don't have a bloody clue where we even are…."

Marty debated following them just to see where they ended up. He had the time, seeing as he hadn't turned anything up yet and wasn't sure where to look. He had plenty of time now. He hadn't really appreciated it before. He'd enjoyed spending his free time with Jeannie, but their enjoyment would eventually fall under the shadow of worry—money, usually, or rather the lack thereof. Free time had meant he wasn't earning a living. To a certain degree, it meant the same thing now. If he and Jeff weren't on the job, Jeff wouldn't be able to pay Jeannie her salary. But ghosts didn't sleep, and Marty now spent much of his time doing just what he was doing now—exploring, wandering about, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

The woman was still carrying on, barely a step behind the man. Moving so that he was ahead of them again, Marty studied them for a moment. The man looked a bit familiar, but he couldn't place him, and he was sure he would remember crossing paths with the redhead if that were the case. Still, their situation wasn't dire. Even if they had been turned around, they were heading to the banks of the Thames, even if it was in a roundabout way. They'd certainly be able to find their way from there. "Don't worry, mate," Marty said as the man walked past him, eyes straight ahead, his companion still talking his ear off. "You're on the right track."

"Don't I know it," the man muttered.

"Well, you _should_," the woman shot back at him. "And it's about time! We've been walking for five hours!"

"Forty-five minutes, actually," the man answered. "Donna, it's not far now. We're on the right track, I promise."

"We bloody well better be, spaceman! Not that I'd trust _your_ sense of direction after this. I'd swear you were circling around to avoid something the way you were going."

"Strange term of endearment," Marty commented, "but I'm not one to judge." He rather enjoyed talking to people, even if they couldn't hear him. There was no need to if Jeff was around, of course, but sometimes he'd just jump into conversations, making his own comments, remembering what it was like to talk to everyone and hear them respond to you. Psychics were few and far between, he'd found, and he was never around them long enough to sustain a good friendship. As for any cheap tricks, such as controlling an Ouija board, well, that just took too long. "I would be more help to you if I knew where you were headed," Marty informed them, keeping step with them now. "I could show you the way or point you in the right direction. I've been around the streets of London enough in my time."

The man was silent for a moment, though the woman—Donna—was still muttering under her breath. Finally, the man said, "When we don't have a specific destination, it's a bit hard to find the shortest way to it, you know."

"You said you knew where you were going!" Donna protested.

"I _said_ I'd know we were in the right place when we got there," the man corrected.

Marty, who had stopped walking the moment the man replied to _his_ question—or so he'd thought—started to follow them again. It was just a coincidence after all. That it should happen twice was admittedly an _unlikely_ coincidence, but it was possible.

Still, the idea that the two were wandering around without knowing what they were looking for was strikingly familiar. "You don't mind if I join you, do you?" Marty asked conversationally. "I don't know exactly where I'm going either. There've been disappearances here recently, you know, and I'm an investigator. Well, I was when I was living—Randall and Hopkirk, you see, and I'm Hopkirk. Marty Hopkirk, actually. Jeff's my partner. When I came back, I chose to appear to him. We can only pick one person, you know. I thought about Jeannie—she's my wife—but I didn't want to alarm her. I'd been murdered, and I couldn't rest. They were trying to say it was an accident! But now, they've found one body, and frankly, they're not really sure whether it was suicide or murder."

The man's forehead was furrowed, and when Donna noticed, she lost no time in commenting. This time, however, her tone wasn't biting; instead, there was an overriding note of concern. "What? What is it? It's not happening again, is it, whatever it is?"

The man shook his head. "No. That was…temporary. Nothing to worry about, like I said before, the last three times you've asked. Bit of a shock to the old system, that's all. I just need to watch my step."

"Then what's—"

"Just a bit of temporal reverberation," the man interrupted, "coupled with a sudden dose of insight, because I really don't like the looks of that." He gestured with his chin at the street ahead of them.

"What's going on there?" Donna asked, turning a confused look on the man.

If Marty's instincts were right—and they were getting better all the time, what with the experience he was still gaining—then the sight the two would have seen would have been an odd one indeed. For the most part, the street was empty, but it marked the spot where the residential area ran into the commercial area. Someone who was clearly down on his luck occupied centre stage, wearing a look of absolute terror, cringing back from…_something_. But Marty could see something else, and he wasn't entirely sure he was happy with knowing the truth. It was another ghost, and judging by his apparel, he'd had a lot more practice at it than Marty did.

Clad almost entirely in white, save for a black tie and shoes, the ghost had a look of wealth about him. As they drew slowly closer, Marty could see that he looked…cold. It was as if his soul was dark and twisted and that it was coming through to show on the surface. The man was shaking his cane at the homeless man, ranting about riffraff on their streets and having to rid society of its filth.

As Marty continued to listen, the threats began. He wasn't sure if the terrified man cowering at the ghost's feet knew what was happening, but he could certainly sense danger. As the ranting continued, Marty decided that the ghost was certainly a vengeful one. From what he could gather, the man blamed anyone he came across—or at least anyone who'd seen better days—for the rape and murder of his daughter. And he was willing to take his anger out on everyone.

"Donna," the brown-coated man said in a low voice to his companion, "go ring the police."

"But…." The woman looked to be at a loss for words for a moment, but she recovered quickly, hissing, "I don't know where we are, let alone where a phone is, and I haven't any money on me right now!"

The man fished something out of his pocket and offered it to her. "Use this."

"I don't know how!"

The man fiddled with the device for a second before pressing it into her hand. "It'll work now. Go. And hurry."

"And just what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to help," the man replied.

"I'll bet," the woman muttered, but she went off anyway.

The man watched her go, waiting until she was out of sight, then took a deep breath and approached the scene playing out in front of him. "Hello," he called out cheerfully, snapping the tension. The homeless man stared at him in wide-eyed terror, not recognizing help. "I'm the Doctor." He pulled the trembling man to his feet, grinning at him. "You looked like you could use a bit of help here, so I came to lend a hand."

The man shook his head, stuttering a negative response and pulling away. He kept glancing in the direction of the wealthy man's ghost, Marty realized. The ghost moved towards him, jeering, and the man bolted. Marty popped ahead twenty yards or so, watching as the man who called himself the Doctor ran to keep up with them. It was uncanny how he managed to avoid both ghosts, but perhaps he just thought the homeless man was having some sort of fit and that it was best to circle around to confront him and calm him down instead of jumping him from behind.

Even though he didn't take his eyes off the scene, Marty almost missed what happened next. The wealthy man's ghost veered, cutting the homeless man off. He lost his balance in his attempt to stop, landing hard but still attempting to scramble backwards. The Doctor stopped just short of the ghost, rocking back on his heels. The ghost ignored him, not seeing him—or Marty, clearly—as a threat.

And then Marty noticed the bit of rope in the bin nearby. It started snaking itself out, heading towards the downed man's throat—

"Oi!" It was the Doctor. "I'm not in the mood for tricks. Leave this poor man alone."

The ghost began laughing, hand outstretched as he guided the rope. Marty charged up to him. "Now, look here, you can't just—" The blow wasn't entirely unexpected, but it still sent him reeling backwards. Even so, he'd achieved what he wanted. The ghost had had to turn his concentration to Marty and left the rope hovering. The Doctor snatched it—why he wasn't frozen with shock at the very sight, Marty couldn't say—and threw it aside.

The ghost, however, was having none of it. Marty was still feeling too woozy to retaliate—was he out of shape already? It hadn't been _that_ long since they'd had to deal with Bugsy—and it was a struggle to stay there and not simply fade out. Still, he managed to watch as the ghost twined the rope around the Doctor's legs while hurtling a fair sized rock at the frozen man lying on the ground, too quick for even the Doctor's reflexes. As the man gasped his last, the ghost winked out.

"No!" It was an agonized cry, come too late. "He didn't deserve that." The Doctor was angry, and Marty wondered who he thought he was angry at. Flying rocks and floating bits of rope weren't exactly commonplace. He watched as the man untangled himself, moving over to kneel beside the dead man. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry." After a brief hesitation, he reached out and closed the man's eyes.

It wasn't the first murder Marty had witnessed, but it was by far the most bizarre. If Jeff hadn't believed him last time, there was no chance this time. Not without some sort of proof. But he was still left with the mystery of why the man had been murdered. "It just doesn't make sense," he said to himself. "Even with all the man had been raving about…." He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.

"The victims are chosen for a reason," the Doctor said, getting to his feet. Marty shot a startled glance in his direction. The man was surely talking to him! But no; he wasn't looking at him. He didn't seem to be looking at anything, really. He was staring ahead, lost in his own thoughts. "There's always a pattern," he continued. "I just need to find out what it is."

* * *

Donna Noble had thought that her day couldn't get any worse. First, there was the Doctor, and he was being positively infuriating. Not only did he continue to _ignore _her, particularly when she tried asking about his earlier episode or why they were here in the first place, but he'd dragged her halfway across London without telling her _why_. Then there was that crazy person who'd been having some sort of fit, and the Doctor had sent _her_ off for the police without telling her a flippin' thing!

She'd had a devil of a time finding a decent phone in the first place and figuring out how to bleep it with the sonic screwdriver, let alone explain what was happening and where. Not that she really understood what was happening, and that was part of the problem. Yes, the situation was urgent, but if the Doctor'd taken three bleeding seconds to tell her what was going on or what to say, she wouldn't have had to spend five minutes trying to explain it without much success.

On the upside, it hadn't started raining again. Yet.

On the downside, by the time she'd found her way back to the spot she'd left the Doctor, no one was in sight. She'd spent a good ten minutes hunting out which way he'd gone, and she finally only found _that _when she heard the sirens. Following those, she was treated to the sight of the police; apparently, _they_ could find their way around better than she. She was, of course, told to keep back. She would have let off a rather inappropriately nasty response if she hadn't spotted the body.

Oh, no, it wasn't the Doctor. If it _had_ been him, for whatever reason, she would have killed him. No, it was the crazy bloke they'd come across earlier, the very reason the Doctor had sent her off on what was practically a wild goose chase. And was the Doctor around, hanging back from her initial line of sight? Of course not. He was long gone. Well, perhaps not _long_ gone. From the sounds of it, he'd been caught on the scene by the police. They'd wanted to question him or something, she supposed, but, well, being him, he'd run for it.

That, of course, meant Donna had no idea where to even _begin_ looking for him. _Why_ he hadn't just used the psychic paper to talk his way out of it, she'd never know. There was no point in asking him; he wouldn't get around to answering. Oh, he probably had some sort of big plan all set up and had gone about it without telling her. No, no, that wasn't right. The Doctor never had a straightforward plan. He just looked at what was happening and acted on his first instinct, formulating a plan as he went. At best, he had a vague idea of what he was going to do. But would he tell her? _Noooo_. Too much trouble.

"Oooh, I swear I'll wring his scrawny little neck if he leaves me wandering about the entire night," Donna muttered. She didn't have any excuse to hang around the crime scene, not now, especially after they'd already asked her to leave once. It probably would have looked suspicious if she'd tried—violators returning to the scene of the crime and all that—and the _last_ thing she needed was to end up in jail. She didn't know much about the system, but she was sure she'd heard _something_ about being held on suspicion. At any rate, she wasn't going to chance it.

After about two hours of wandering aimlessly around, she'd had enough. She plopped herself down on a set of steps and decided to wait. Let the Doctor find her. He was the one who claimed to have a superior sense of direction. Hers wasn't half bad, really, as far as things go, but she was sure he'd been taking her in circles earlier, and she'd just get even _more_ lost than she already was if she tried to find her way back to the TARDIS.

If she'd had a few quid, things wouldn't have been so bad. She wouldn't have to walk everywhere, for one. And she'd be able to go and get herself a stiff drink and some greasy pub food. Of course she hadn't eaten before _leaving_ the TARDIS, not with the Doctor assuring her they had everything under the sun on Nyxa 4. But did he think of that before he dragged her off around London? No. She'd only seen him eat something once or twice, and it was always only a taste. Heaven forbid that the high-and-mighty Time Lord would come down to earth once in a while to do something as mundane as eating a Christmas dinner with her family. It wasn't as if saving the world took any energy, oh, no. He could run for _days_ without needing a wink of sleep, she'd swear to it.

The only consolation she had was the knowledge that he wouldn't leave her here. Well, to be a bit more specific, he wouldn't leave her here with his sonic screwdriver. With the way he acted some days, she wouldn't be surprised if he just landed somewhere and _lost_ a couple of his companions along the way.

She wasn't the first, oh, no. She knew that. There was that Rose Tyler he was still pining over, or at least that's what she suspected, and there was Martha Jones, who had chosen to move on with her life and leave the Doctor, though Donna couldn't say if even the terrors Martha had faced would be enough to drive her away from the Doctor now. He'd terrified her when she'd first met him, and at times he still did, but…. Now that she'd had a taste of it, she never wanted to stop. And she wouldn't, not if she had any choice.

It was a bit disconcerting to think that all the Doctor's _other_ companions had probably thought that, too. How many others had come and gone before he'd found her and Rose and Martha? She recalled something, back when they'd been called to UNIT by Martha—the Doctor had worked there before. And his connections probably didn't end there. He must have travelled with dozens of people. So how many had chosen to leave him, like Martha, and how many had been separated from him, like Rose?

And how many had he consciously left behind?

Donna began fiddling with the settings on the sonic screwdriver. Maybe there was some sort of homing signal built into it that she could activate. Not that she'd know if she did; she was still clueless when it came to electronics. She could work a mobile, yes, but she couldn't even connect a DVD player to the telly. The Doctor saw potential in her, though. He always said he travelled with the best. She wasn't so sure he hadn't made a mistake in judgement this time, but she was sure he wouldn't leave her.

He had, after all, done everything in his power to protect her in The Library, and he'd gotten her back, safe and sound.

"Besides," Donna said aloud, determined to pull her thoughts in a different direction again, "I've got his sonic screwdriver, and he's not going to be going anywhere without it. He loves his sonic screwdriver."

But she was still going to slap him when she saw him again, just for leaving her alone.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor's mind was working furiously. He loved living here, on the edge—kept his mind sharp, made sure he didn't go soft, distracted him from…other memories, best left buried—but there were times when even _he_ felt just a _teensy _bit of pressure.

One, he was crossing his own timeline, and he had to be _very _careful not to run into his other self. Doing so would undoubtedly cause another paradox if it didn't simply destroy a portion of the universe, and frankly he'd dealt with enough of those recently. Besides, if he _had_ run into his other self, he would have remembered. So he hadn't. He just needed to make sure of that.

B…no, two. The murders. Oh, it wasn't the work of aliens, not this time. It would have been easier if it were, really. He could have dealt with the Silicites or the Pyrandians with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. Even the Kupa or the Gelth would have been something he could handle without _too_ much trouble. But, no, it had to be purely _human_ in origin. Well, that was perhaps stretching it a bit. But it was human belief that enabled the supernatural to take hold, no doubt about it. And someone evidently had a rather nasty grudge.

Three, he had to be sure that his other self was too preoccupied to reason out precisely _what_ had caused that little ripple in the time stream. He had never experienced something quite like that—the experience he'd had back when he'd been in 1969 before aside—when he crossed his own timeline. No splitting headache when he and Rose had doubled back that one time and she'd saved her father, for instance. But perhaps that was because then, things had already been shifting.

It was hard to say. Even when he had actually interacted with his other selves before, in different regenerations, he had never had to mentally shut down any of his outward-reaching senses. It was just as well, though; meant his other self wouldn't stumble upon the TARDIS-that-was-not-yet-his, even if he could, initially, sense it. It had made bearing the time without it easier, actually, if he recalled correctly. Perhaps it was the additional interference from the manifestations of the lasting impressions, since even though they were strictly restricted by beliefs, they were able to influence the three basic dimensions of the outside world. It was possible. Dealing with something that was caught out of time _was_ a bit draining.

Four, Donna still had his sonic screwdriver. It doubled as a rather good tracking device whenever he'd forgotten the other one in the TARDIS, like now, and didn't have the time to go back for it. Five, he'd lost Donna, albeit temporarily. He planned to act on rectifying that just as soon as he checked on his other self. He recalled that Martha had been eager to investigate the murders, but he'd been trying to build his timey-wimey detector. And then things had gone downhill from there, but of course he'd never known _why_ until now. Still, that was number seven on the list—making sure what originally happened still happens.

Eight, he had to ensure that Donna and Martha didn't run into each other, since although Donna had met Martha, Martha had not met Donna. Ni—no, hold on, he'd skipped six, hadn't he? Six, then. He had to be sure Donna didn't meet up with his other self. As far as he knew, she was still trying to travel the world, or at the very least, attempting to find something other than a temporary job.

Nine, the banana in his pocket had turned, so there was no chance of using that for anything, except for perhaps a bit of banana loaf or muffins or some such thing. But he wouldn't have any such luck talking Donna into making anything; he would've had better luck with Martha. Still, it would be best to get another before he found himself invited to a party or wandering about the Forests of Gwyllandrith.

Ten, there was the fine-and-dandy little fact that his earlier conversation with Donna had been overheard. Well, her conversation with him, more like. Well, her conversation and his occasional comments. Well, her rants and his responses. Well... Point is, they'd been overheard, and he had to make sure that no one pieced anything together. And that was the short list. The _long_ one went on to—

"Doctor!"

Oh. Right. Yes. Martha. Lovely. What was she doing out here? The Doctor glanced at the street he was on, confirming a suspicion. No doubt about it; this was where they'd been living. She must have seen him meandering by. He'd meant to avoid this area for that reason. He had managed it while with Donna, at least. That was something. Still, he could act. Pasting on one of his very best grins, he called out, "Martha! What brings you down? I didn't forget to pick up the eggs again, did I?"

She frowned at him, stopped just short of hugging him. "Very funny, mister, but you know very well we aren't going to be having any eggs for a while, and don't think I haven't found that article you clipped out of the paper advertising pullets. You know as well as I do that we can't keep them."

"There's a little spot in the back—"

"No, Doctor." But Martha couldn't keep her frown, he knew, and she let it break into a smile. "I'm just worried, that's all. I thought you weren't going to be long, but it's been over an hour."

"I couldn't find what I was looking for," the Doctor replied. He thought for a moment, trying to remember…. Yes, yes, he did come back with something later tonight. Which meant that he had to give Martha the slip sooner rather than later. "But then again, I didn't think to check—"

"You can look tomorrow," Martha said firmly, taking him by the arm and pulling him towards the entryway. "It's late. People talk."

The Doctor didn't resist. Yet. "There is always tomorrow," he agreed. "Unless, of course, you wanted to check out those murders of yours. Well, one murder. Well, possible murder."

She took the bait. Hesitating, she turned to look at him. "I thought you weren't interested in that."

"Oh, me? I'm interested in everything, Martha Jones. Now, if you'd just let me nip off to find this part, I'll be able to fit it into the timey-wimey detector tonight, and tomorrow we can go off investigating." He paused. "You are off tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, silly. It's Sunday. Shop's closed." She sighed. "Never thought I'd be glad of that! Small neighbourhood, I suppose. And changing times, you know?" A smile. "Course you do. You probably know that better than I do, what with going out all across the stars, travelling throughout the eons, seeing all sorts of societies…."

"Not really; I tend to avoid Sundays. Not much happens on those days." He flashed her a grin, adding, "Back in a bit, I promise!" Without pause, he took off down the street, almost missing her retort. So he'd said that last time? Ah, well. It was true. His other self was due back this way in a scant twenty minutes. Well, twenty-three. Well, twenty-three-and-a-half, rounding to the nearest half minute.

It could be worse. His other self would be able to enjoy precisely seven-point-three-five minutes of peace in which he would fiddle with the timey-wimey detector, take two sips of scalding tea, and listen to six offhand yet pointed comments from Martha before they came for him. Not bad, all things considered. He'd had worse runs of luck.

* * *

Jeff Randall was more than ready to leave the office. Everyone else in their right mind was off work, and here he was, plugging away, trying to stretch a too-tight budget over the next month…. At least, that's what he _was_ doing until Marty showed up. Now, he was listening as Marty went on about this couple he'd run into. Jeff had to admit he wasn't giving Marty his full attention until he heard mention of another ghost. That, as far as Jeff was concerned, was the last thing they needed.

"And you're certain?" he asked again, not willing to act unless they were sure.

Marty frowned at him, saying, "I'm not seeing things, Jeff."

"And this other ghost is bent on murdering people?"

"I wouldn't say that it's a death wish like it was with Bugsy," Marty explained. "This bloke seems intent on revenge, yes, but on a much broader spectrum. From what he was saying, he'd found his daughter raped and murdered. He was certain he knew who'd done it, but he can't have been able to prove anything or he wouldn't still be hanging around."

"Then why isn't he just haunting this one person?"

Marty shrugged. "This victim looked similar to the last one; he's targeting a specific type. Something must have happened to the bloke he was after. I don't know, Jeff, but we've got to do something."

"_We_?" Jeff repeated. No way, no how. Not another charity case. He couldn't afford it. "Marty—"

"It's not about Jeannie," Marty cut in, likely assuming that that was where Jeff was leading. "It's…. Can you think of anyone else more qualified to figure this out?"

Marty had him there, all right. Jeff couldn't deny that. "No," he said, but he was quick to continue, adding, "but we're not going to get involved. I can't, anyway. I don't have a reason. Inspector Large is just _looking_ for an excuse to put me away for a spell, and all he's ever come up with is circumstantial evidence—nothing to hold me on, at least not for more than twenty-four hours. I can't take risks, Marty. Not without good reason. And this _isn't_ a good reason." He picked up his briefcase, ready to leave the conversation where it stood.

No such luck. "The police have a suspect, you know. For the murders."

"Bully for them," Jeff replied sourly, still unconvinced.

"Jeff, if we don't do something, an innocent man will take the blame!"

"And if we did want to do something, Marty, what do you suggest?" Jeff's patience was perhaps a bit shorter with his friend than it should have been, but it had been a long day.

"We'll have to stop the ghost, for one," Marty proposed. "And then—"

"And then the police will be convinced that whoever they're holding is indeed the one they want," Jeff pointed out. "So you can't win." He left the office, closing the door in Marty's face—just to get his point across, of course—and locking it.

He turned around to face Marty, who was currently being more stubborn than a mule. "Do you want someone's murder on your conscience?" he tried. "That's what it would be, you know, if someone else is killed and it was in your power to prevent it."

"There's a very simple answer to that," Jeff said shortly. "It's _not_ in my power to prevent it. Therefore, I do not have to feel guilty." He threw open the door, his one hand habitually locking it behind him, and started down the steps into the street, looking over his shoulder at Marty as he added, "But don't worry about Jeannie; I'll pop over to check on her and make sure she's—"

"Oi! Watch where you're going!"

The cry came too late, and Jeff tumbled head-over-heels down the steps, opening bleary eyes to find himself entangled with a woman who had been previously occupying the steps. She kept muttering at him, calling him, among other things, a nutter—probably because he'd been caught talking to Marty; it certainly wasn't the first time, and with his luck, it wouldn't be the last, either.

Marty was talking over her nattering, though. So she was the better half of the couple he'd come across earlier. Just his luck; she was Marty's excuse for his tie-in with the murders, then. Not that she'd even witnessed the last one, from what he'd told her. She'd gone off to call out the good Inspector Large or Sergeant Hinds or one of the other friendly folk down at the station before any of the bloody stuff happened.

Granted, from the sounds of it, the bloke she was with had been handling it well. If he could face a situation like that without blinking an eye, then he would have had to have been through any number of odd things. And if they were together, then there was a good chance the woman had at least a bit of experience, too. That meant, of course, that Jeff would probably be better off moving sooner rather than later. With a groan, he rolled to one side and she yanked her leg free.

"'Bout bloody time," the woman said, frowning at him as she massaged her leg. "Are you bleeding blind? You walked right into me!"

"Fell, more like," Jeff corrected, rubbing the back of his head. He'd have a goose egg there, no doubt, but it was one he'd caused himself, for a change, as opposed to being knocked out by someone.

He was ignored. "Who were you talking to, anyway?"

"I sometimes think aloud," he said, gritting his teeth as he moved. Oh, he'd be black-and-blue tomorrow; that was for sure.

The woman snorted. "Yeah, right. And I'll bet you're one of those weirdoes who think they're the rightful king of England."

"No," Jeff replied. Attempting a stab at humour, he added, "But I know the type. You have to be careful around them; they're liable to string you up somewhere and set the building on fire if you get too close to them. They don't take kindly to nosy people."

She was giving him a look that meant he'd better stuff it or she'd slap him. Just as well; Marty was pestering him to ask her what she was doing here. He seemed to think she was looking for them, though what put _that_ idea in his head, Jeff couldn't say. He thought of a polite way to phrase Marty's question and then asked, "May I help you, Mrs—?"

"Donna Noble. And it's _miss_, thank you very much." She sighed. "God, at least I don't look single. Though I don't know what's worse when you're still looking for someone, with people thinking you're single or you're married. Because when they think you're single, they want to pity you, and I hate that. People never think I can do anything for myself. And whenever I'm with the Doctor, people always think we're a couple…. There's been one person, _one_, who thought otherwise, can you believe that? She noticed we weren't wearing any wedding rings." A tired laugh. "But, well, you probably _could_ help me. Just don't think I go around begging for anything, mister, because you wouldn't be further off the mark!" Her tone tempered down again, as quickly as it had risen. "I lost my friend, so I'm stuck here without money or a place to stay, and I have absolutely no idea where he could be."

"I don't really have much by the way of cash," Jeff said rather unhappily as he reached into his pocket. She wasn't getting a pence over ten quid.

"Oh, god, no," Donna shook her head. "No, I'm not looking for a handout, Mr…." She turned around, eyes finding the sign on the wall. "Randall."

"Jeff," he said. Might as well be on a first-name basis, he figured. He had a feeling this wouldn't be the last they saw of each other.

"Tell her you'll put her up, Jeff," Marty announced. Some suggestion; it sounded more like an order. "And that you'll help her find this doctor." He stopped, thinking, a frown briefly crossing his face. "He looked familiar, Jeff. I've seen him before. I just can't remember where."

It took all the willpower he had not to glare in Marty's direction. Best take his suggestion, though, and put the poor girl up for a night. It wasn't looking like he was going to be getting any sleep, anyway. Not with Marty intent on being on the case.

"I could put you up for the night," Jeff offered, trying not to recoil at the glare he received immediately. Was it an impulsive habit of some sort? "We could look for your fellow and see if we can find him."

"Have you not been listening to a word I've been saying?" Donna asked, exasperated. "We're _not_ a couple!"

Defensive, Jeff noted. But probably truthful. "You still need to find him. You said so yourself."

She nodded miserably. "I kept hoping if I stayed in one spot, _he'd_ find _me_. But I've been wandering for ages and then waiting here and…." She trailed off. "There's no sign of him."

She was worried, and she didn't want to admit it. "I'll get you a nice cup of tea; how about that? That sound good?"

A smile. "Sounds great." A pause, and then a small, "Thanks."

"That's the way, Jeff," Marty said approvingly. "I'm sure this bloke of hers has some answers, and he'll be more willing to tell us now."

"I hope you're right," Jeff muttered.

"Pardon?" Donna asked, giving him a sideways glance.

"Oh, er, nothing." Jeff pulled out his keys. "Car's right this way, ma'am," he said, gesturing to it and offering her an arm at the same time.

A snort, followed by a low yet pleased mumble of "Flatterer." But despite her pretence of annoyance, she took his arm, and he was able to lead her away. Whether or not they would get any answers from it, he couldn't say, but Marty was right—you took every possibility. Besides, it wouldn't _kill_ him to treat someone in need to something so small. And, with any luck, Marty would pop about the city looking for the guy so that Jeff would have an idea of where to go later on. The faster they wrapped this up, the better, as far as he was concerned. In spite of what he'd told Marty earlier, he _would_ feel as if another death would have been one he could have prevented. One death on his conscience was one too many.

* * *

The Doctor studied the piece of scrap metal in his hand. It still maintained a thick base but was worn a bit thin on the top, though it had not yet rusted through. The shape was similar to what he was looking for, only about point four millimetres out in diameter, and the dent in the side he could hammer out. If he cleaned it up a bit, it would do nicely for a conjoining piece to the internal quaternary chamber, the majority of which was formed by a broken eight-track tape player.

Now he just needed a spring to fit inside the tube. If his calculations were correct, and they very nearly always were, he'd collected everything else he would need for the timey-wimey detector to work. He wasn't completely sure where to put all the parts, but he was confident in his ability to fit it together. It wasn't any more difficult than assembling a puzzle without knowing the picture it would eventually form, really. Not for him.

Now if only he could just shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Silly, really. No one knew he was here, save Martha, and she wouldn't come looking for him. He'd locked the gate behind him, so it didn't look as if anyone had broken in. It was dark, and he could be thankful that he had better eyes than a simple human. He also had the ability to be exceptionally quiet—contrary to popular belief, judging by the number of comments he'd had directed at him regarding his mile-a-minute mouth—and the ability to stand exceptionally still, particularly useful in cases like this. He didn't even have to breathe as he strained his ears to catch a muffled sound.

Nothing.

It wasn't so much that he was nervous. No, he was simply _curious_. Who else would be out and about now? Sun had set. It was threatening to rain again. He didn't know anyone else who was desperate to cobble together a machine that was essential in the prevention of the destruction of the majority of the universe.

He started his search for a spring again. Too loosely coiled, too tightly coiled, bent, too thick, too thin, wrong material, too short, too long, rusted, too wide, too narrow, seized up…. He certainly wouldn't be able to find the cream of the crop, but there really ought to be something that would do. He'd already been through one junkyard, and while he'd gleaned a number of treasures from there, he hadn't found his elusive spring. It needed to be strong enough to withstand the tension he intended to put it through yet weak enough to allow for some flexibility. He'd come across one spring that would have been perfect were it not the wrong size.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, he would admit that he was the tiniest bit disturbed by what had happened earlier. What he had told Martha was perfectly true; it _was_ brief, and it _had_ been a temporal disturbance. What he had tactfully not mentioned was, among other things, the fact that he had had to raise up more mental blocks than before. It wasn't the simple fact that, somewhere in the universe, another one of his selves was up to something. That was common. Whether the connection was weak or strong, he could usually detect it. But that didn't cause any pain.

The pain hadn't lasted long, of course. It had barely registered for a microsecond. But it had been followed by a sudden drain in energy that he had yet to reason away. It wasn't the sort of relief one might feel after a moment of tension. It was physically and mentally draining. Not that he'd let that on. If Martha was right, and something alien was about, and its plan was to drain its victims to make them easier prey, then he was not about to follow through. But he wasn't convinced it was alien, not completely. Funny thing, though—even thinking about it made him feel that way again, and he wasn't susceptible to that sort of primitive mind trickery, not usually.

Then again, he hadn't really had time to do much in the way of investigating. He had enough other things on his mind. One small ripple in the time stream shouldn't call for an all-out panicked search for the source. There were plenty of explanations for it. Well, he could think of two or three. Well, one, actually. A vague one. Well, not _that_ vague, he supposed. It just meant another one of his selves was running around. Nothing unusual about that. Well, nothing _unusually _unusual about that, seeing as it had happened to him before. As for the fleeting pain and the drain of energy, coupled with the fact that he had to reinforce his shields, well…. He was only missing one variable. Well, no more than two. Theoretically.

The Doctor shifted a bit of old siding out of his way. "Ah ha!" he crowed, finally spotting the needle in the haystack. "I _knew_ you'd be here, didn't I?" He picked the spring up, examined it for a moment, and pocketed it. Intuition—couldn't fault it. He knew he'd been right to come here. Now, maybe if he spent the night assembling and reassembling the greater part of the timey-wimey detector, he could justify taking a bit of time off to look into those disappearances of Martha's.

It was a simple matter for him to slip out of the scrap yard unnoticed, but he still hadn't shaken the feeling that he was being watched. No matter; if someone was foolish enough to think they could try to tail _him_ through the streets of London, they had another thing coming. Besides, a bit of a run would do him good. He hadn't been doing much of that lately, and he rather missed it. A good jog would get the circulation going, send the blood pumping up to the brain…and take his mind off of distractions that he would really be able to pick apart better tomorrow, once the facts had rolled around in his mind for a bit.

The Doctor grinned for the pure pleasure of it. Oh, yes, tomorrow would be another new, exciting day. He'd be sure of that. If he finished the timey-wimey detector, he could test it out while Martha was at work and perhaps see if he could get some more eggs. At the very least, he could try his hand at decorating them. True, in some regenerations he was absolute rubbish at art, but he did have an ear for music this time, and he wasn't half bad when it came to sketching. And he had never actually _tried_ decorating eggs before. That was done around Easter, after all, and he never seemed to land around Easter. He'd even missed it this year, seeing as it had fallen on April sixth. Pity, that. He'd have to try to catch it sometime. Hadn't managed to find it since the first one.

Lost in his thoughts of the coming day as he was, the Doctor failed to remember that the night was not yet over. Even if he knew better than to put all his eggs in one basket, he was forgetting that one must never count one's chickens before they hatch….


	4. Chapter 4

Marty had been looking everywhere, but he couldn't find the man who called himself the Doctor. He'd finally taken some time to think, deciding that if he could remember where he had seen the man before, he might have an idea of where to look. It hadn't been during his lifetime, he was sure, but that didn't narrow it down much. He'd been on a case, if he recalled correctly. Not that _that_ helped much, either, but it gave him a place to start. He began popping everywhere he'd been with Jeff, hoping something would jog his memory.

He was standing in the theatre where Fernandez had been murdered when he remembered. Jeff had been hired as a mind reader while he investigated the case. He hadn't gotten a fee, as he wasn't officially hired to look into the murder, but the money he'd received for his act had more than covered it. Not that he'd known how much he was getting initially, but it had turned out to be more than enough to cover the bills for a couple of months.

But it was in this very theatre that Marty had come across the Doctor. It was Jeff's first night, in fact, and they'd gone through half the audience during the act. He probably wouldn't have remembered if it hadn't been for the whispered conversation between the man and his companion, a woman who certainly was not the same as the one he went around with now. The woman—Martha?—had been more than willing to believe that Jeff could read minds, but the man had been entirely sceptical, and the things they'd said…. He could almost quote it. They'd been sitting right up there, fourth row from the back, left aisle, five seats in….

"_It's amazing, isn't it?"_ _the woman asked in an excited whisper._

_The man shrugged. "It's only an act. He's certainly not harnessing psionic energy, if that's what you're thinking. Believe me; I'd know."_

"_You'd like me to think you know everything, Doctor," the woman retorted quietly, the sceptical amusement clear in her voice._

"_Oh, but I do know everything, Martha Jones," he responded, grinning at her. "Well, at least everything relevant to you lot at this time. Well, at least what I consider relevant. Well, I _say _relevant…. At any rate, I did my research. Still do, in fact. But you don't have to know much of anything to know that that bloke up there couldn't read a mind if it was written in plain English—which I can assure you they never are."_

"_I'd still like to try it, just to see. I mean, there aren't any mirrors, and _we're_ certainly not plants in the audience_..._" Martha trailed off. "Do you have anything in one of your pockets I could use?"_

_The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. "I have any number of things in my pockets," he replied in a serious tone._

"_Yes, but something that I could use? Something, you know, normal."_

_The Doctor frowned. "Well, it _does_ depend on your definition of _normal_, but I think a letter's safe enough, don't you?"_

_Martha smiled, but her delight soured to suspicion within seconds. "Wait, what's the date on the letter?"_

"_Yesterday's date," the Doctor informed her gently, "so no worries. I picked up the post, but aside from the paper, this was the only thing worth keeping. Rent's due, by the way. You're getting paid soon, right?"_

"_Got it the end of the week," Martha answered. "But bill or not, it'll have our address. Give it here. I want to see just how good this Jeff Randall really is. And then, if you _do_ know everything, Doctor, you can explain how he got it right." Smirking, she took the envelope the Doctor passed her, and Marty read the address off to Jeff_...

Marty lost no time in heading to the address, thankful that his memory was better than Jeff gave him credit for. He checked the street, nodded to himself, and wandered around to find the right building. In no time at all, he was standing in the tiny kitchen of an apartment not dissimilar from Jeff's. Cramped, but cozy. Still, there was something a bit off about it. It had all the essentials, but—Marty stole a quick glance around the living room to confirm his suspicions—it looked surprisingly bare of personal touches. No photographs, for instance. No paintings to brighten the walls. Not so much as a shelf full of books to tell others about the inhabitants.

On the other hand, while it wasn't exactly tidy, to say it was a complete mess would be incorrect. Bits and pieces from everything imaginable were scattered around the living room, and tools were left on the kitchen counter, but it was systematic. Things had been categorized, it seemed, and bunched together so that they could be found with relative ease. To the untrained eye, it would look like a disaster area, and yet…. It seemed fitting. Eccentric. Just the sort of place one would expect an odd person to live.

For it was certainly being lived in; the woman, Martha, had just poured herself and the Doctor scalding cups of tea. The man in question was in the middle of the maze in the living room, fiddling with this and that, muttering to himself, sometimes tossing a part aside into what Marty assumed was a discard pile. Martha made comments about the time of night, the mess, her job at the shop, but nothing elicited a conversation of more than two sentences. The Doctor, it seemed, was otherwise occupied. He had stopped briefly when Marty had appeared, prompting Martha to ask what was wrong and if it was related to what had happened earlier, but after muttering a nonsensical answer, he had gone on working. Marty had only seen him stop twice to sip his tea.

"So since you found your part," Martha started again, "do you figure we can go and look around a bit tomorrow? About those murders?"

"Possible murder," corrected the Doctor. He finally paused in his work, cocking his head to one side. "Hello, someone else is coming."

"Probably old Mr. Forrester," Martha said in an almost conspiratorial tone, the sort one might use when gossiping to a friend about sworn secrets. "He keeps odd hours, always up and about when everyone else in the neighbourhood is off the streets."

"No, no, it's not that." The Doctor put the machine he was working on aside. "I think—"

He cut off abruptly as the door handle began to turn. Martha was frozen, unsure of what to do, and the Doctor looked…resigned? Confused? Wary? Marty would say he'd become fairly adept at reading people, seeing as it certainly helps in the business, but the Doctor…. It wasn't just a blank slate; it was a mix of emotions flooding across his features for a split second before he schooled them into…_something_.

The door burst open.

It was the police.

"What?" the Doctor exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "_What_?"

"Warrant, to search the premises," announced the first man, unfolding a paper to show it to the Doctor before tucking it in his pocket again. Two more grabbed the Doctor, dragging him back from the door and holding him while a third patted him down. Finding him clean, they moved on to Martha, who was too shocked to protest. The first man continued speaking, saying, "Edwards, Tompkins, the full treatment. Take the place apart."

"Rush job," Marty commented, rather surprised, "seeing as you and I saw the bloke murdered this afternoon."

"_What_? What? What's all this about?" the Doctor sputtered. "Who are you?"

Martha turned a frightened gaze to the Doctor. "What did you _do_?" she asked in a tiny voice. "You didn't…_break in_ to anything to get these parts, did you? They could've caught you on CCTV or something."

"No, no, no, no, no. Not yet," the Doctor replied quietly, all too aware that the first man's eyes were never leaving his face. "Still on trial runs in most places. It's not widespread."

"Then what—?"

Their conversation, it seemed, had gone on long enough. "Inspector Large." The first man flashed them a badge before turning to address the Doctor. "This afternoon, Saturday the twenty-fourth of May, at approximately 17:00 hours, you, Dr. John Smith, were found at the scene of a murder in an alley behind the Gallow's Gate Pub. You had the victim's blood on your hands and refused to stop when called to halt. I'll be taking you down to the station, Smith."

"I haven't the foggiest what you're going on about," the Doctor said. "I was home then. With Martha."

Marty gave him a strange look. "Lying's not going to get you out of this," he informed him. "The inspector's as stubborn as a mule, especially when he's got evidence. I know they caught you on the scene; I was there. Why not just tell him the truth—that you were trying to help?"

"He was," Martha joined in, finding her voice. "And you've no right to do this! You're tearing the place to pieces."

"You'll be compensated, if necessary," Inspector Large informed her, sounding rather bored and completely self-assured that no compensation _would_ be necessary. "But he's coming to the station."

"On what charge?" Martha demanded. "You can't tell me you _honestly_ think that he _murdered_ someone, do you?"

"Look around you, Mrs. Smith." The inspector gestured to the living room, the mechanical bits and pieces more strewn around than ever. "Would you care to tell me what your husband has been up to building?"

"I…." Martha closed her mouth. Marty didn't doubt that she knew, but she clearly believed she couldn't tell the police the truth.

The man smirked at her silence. "You should consider yourself lucky that you aren't going to be taken in as an accomplice."

"Your evidence is just circumstantial," the Doctor said softly.

"They'll still hold you while they investigate," Marty told him. "Holding charge."

"We'll still be bringing you in," the inspector repeated for the third time. He turned towards his men; they had torn apart everything from the pillows to the kitchen cupboards. "Edwards? Tompkins? What have you found?"

"An unusually large amount of scrap pieces that could be the makings of a weapon, Inspector," one reported.

"Gather it up," ordered Inspector Large. "We'll take it in for examination."

"But…you _can't_—"

"Don't worry, Martha. I'll be fine." The Doctor gave her a small smile. "Nothing new for me, being locked up." Seeing her eyes narrow, he hastily added, "Always a misunderstanding, of course."

"But—"

"Twenty-four hours," the Doctor interrupted. "Holding charge. Isn't that right? Then you have to charge me, correct?" Inspector Large nodded his confirmation, and the Doctor ploughed on. "Best of luck with that, then, seeing as I wasn't there. Don't know who you've got me mixed up with, really. I thought I was memorable. Well, I say memorable, I mean unique—" The Doctor stopped, as if something had just occurred to him.

"What? It's not happening again, is it?" Martha looked distressed. "Doctor?"

Inspector Large looked from Martha, whose wedding ring was clearly visible, to the man he assumed was her husband. Marty knew what he was thinking—no first name basis. The man demanded respect from her. Didn't look beaten, but one could never tell. Bruises could be hidden. She was certainly defensive enough, and made excuses for him….

"What are you going on about?" Marty asked, despite knowing he wouldn't get an answer.

"Unique," the Doctor repeated slowly. "One of a kind. Unmistakable. Oh, no, no, no, nononononononono! That's it, isn't it? Oh, of _course_ it is! How could I be so thick? I _knew_ I was about somewhere, but I just didn't think!" He started pulling at his hair. "I was trying to explain away that other thing, but I couldn't, and this doesn't account for that, not completely, but it does mean that we get out of this, that the loop closes, complete, unless coming back reopened it, breaking it, snapping it, splintering it into a million, billion pieces, but surely I would have felt that, being me, and—" He'd started to pace, but two of the policemen grabbed him again, startling him into silence.

Marty didn't need to stick around. He knew where the Doctor was headed. Sighing, he popped over to the café near Jeff's to tell him what had happened. It was doubtful that Donna would believe it, he thought. She seemed to think the Doctor genuinely cared for her. The way she'd gone on about him, she seemed to return the feeling. They bickered, it seemed, and got along as well as brother and sister. Perhaps that's what they were. Didn't look that much alike, not really, but it would explain the kinship they'd displayed. As for Donna's insistence about being single, well, it certainly wasn't the first divorce case Marty'd seen that had turned a bit sour. Not that he doubted for a moment that Mr. Noble had gotten away with a cent more than he deserved; Donna herself seemed quite capable of putting _anyone_ in their place.

* * *

"What do you mean, you think we oughta go down to the police station?" Donna exclaimed loudly, causing nearby customers to stop their own conversations and watch them with interest.

"It's just possible," Jeff answered in a low voice, "that he ended up there."

"He did, Jeff. I'm certain of it," Marty confirmed.

"And what makes you think that?" Donna demanded, not lowering her voice in the slightest.

Jeff winced. "I've got a feeling, that's all."

"A _feeling_?" Donna repeated, the sarcasm heavy in her voice. "Oh, yes, I'll always go wherever just because someone I just met has a _feeling_ about it!"

"It's a place to start, all right?" Jeff had to remind himself not to lose his temper. He'd brought this upon himself, after all. Well, _Marty_ had brought it upon him, but he'd been foolish enough to agree, so he had to live with the consequences.

"Well, you certainly haven't convinced _me_, mister!" Donna crossed her arms defiantly. "Give me _one_ good reason, just _one_, why I ought to just go and—"

"Because we aren't doing much good here," Jeff cut in. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what he'd be up to, and it's none of my business. I just wanted to help. This is just a suggestion, but if you don't have any better ideas, I'd advise you to take it."

"Fine." It was a begrudging acceptance. "But you might as well do the talking when we show up, since, _apparently_, you know everything."

Jeff was beginning to wonder, not for the first time, why he even listened to Marty. Yes, they managed to leave the café without overhearing any remarks pertaining to them, but he just knew someone was going to comment about it in the morning. Privacy was a luxury, and in these days it was in awfully short supply.

It wasn't a far drive, so the fact that it was uneventful was entirely unsurprising. What happened next, however, perked Jeff's interest. Thinking back on it, he would probably have named it as the very moment he had decided _against_ leaving the case be, even if it hadn't really been his in the first place.

"You're sure it's this one?" Donna asked, looking up at the building.

"The good Inspector Large is the one you contacted, isn't it?"

Donna shrugged. "Didn't talk to an inspector. Talked to a sergeant, eventually. Hinds, I think."

"Then this'll be it," Jeff confirmed. "After you," he said, opening the door for Donna.

"I _can_ get the—"

"Donna!"

Jeff turned to see a scrawny beanpole of man running up to them, brown coat flying behind him, tie askew. He wore a suit—blue, pinstriped—but any professional effect it might have had to gain him respect was lost by the fact that he was wearing trainers and looked, overall, a bit scruffy. Jeff glanced at Donna, who was beaming, and then at Marty, who was gawking at the man.

"Doctor!" Donna ran up to him, pulling him into a tight hug. Three seconds later, she stepped back and slapped him. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again! _Do you hear me_? Never again! I must've walked halfway across…."

Choosing to ignore what he was sure would otherwise be a very interesting, if fabricated, tale, Jeff looked to Marty. "Well?" he hissed. "Is that him?"

"It is," Marty said in disbelief, "but it can't be!"

"Go check, then," Jeff muttered. Marty popped off, and although he didn't reappear until a moment or so later, Donna was still bearing down on the man. "Well, what is it, Marty?" Jeff asked softly, sending nervous glances at Donna and her companion, not wanting to be overheard talking to himself.

"I…it…Jeff, there's _two_ of them!"

"So they're identical twins." All right, easy enough. He could deal with that.

But Marty was shaking his head. "I don't know, Jeff. It's funny. They're _exactly_ alike! Even identical twins aren't exactly the same. You've met Jeannie's friend Betty, haven't you? She's got a twin, out in Sussex. They look similar enough, and some of their mannerisms are the same, but you can tell them apart, even if you have to look twice to do it."

"So what's your brilliant theory?" Jeff hissed.

"I don't…. They _must_ be twins, Jeff—it's the only reasonable explanation—but they really…." Marty shook his head again. "I don't understand it."

Before Jeff could reply, he found himself caught up in introductions. The man had freed himself from Donna to come over to greet him, positively beaming and saying, "Hello, I'm the Doctor. Doctor John Smith. I'd like to thank you for taking care of my friend. She gets a bit testy when she hasn't—"

"Oi! Right here!"

"Right, sorry," John—or rather, Jeff supposed, the Doctor, if he preferred that as implied by the fact that he had begun his introduction with it—smiled apologetically. His smile slipped a bit as he winced, as if something was causing him pain, but recovered quickly. "Just a bit…rushed. We've got places to go, Donna and I, and—" The spasm came again.

"What?" Donna was looking at him with genuine concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Just…a bit of…." The Doctor grimaced. "Can't stay here, really. Have you a better place we can go and have a bit of a chat before we dash off?"

"There's your apartment, Jeff," Marty pointed out. "It'd be quiet there."

"Right, that'd be brilliant." The Doctor was nodding. "Come on, then, Donna."

"What?" This time, Donna's tone was one of utter confusion. "We can go and have a good chat, yes, that's great, now we'd better be off?" Her parody was cynical, yet still light-hearted. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Doctor. I think you're losing it."

The man was psychic. Jeff wasn't sure what that was supposed to explain, but it did provide some sort of explanation for the oddness that pervaded the situation. "We can talk once we get to my apartment," he said, ushering Donna back to the car, the Doctor following behind. "It's decidedly less public there." To Marty, he added, "See what you can find out about him. I want to know if he's going to be telling us the truth or just stringing us along."

"Right, Jeff," Marty said, popping off.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"So," Jeff said when they were all seated in his living room, "care to explain?"

Donna glanced at the Doctor. "I wouldn't mind hearing some of this myself."

The Doctor sighed. "Well, it's complicated."

"You're psychic," Jeff stated, watching for his reaction.

A look of comprehension dawned on the Doctor's face. "Oooh, right! That's where I'd seen you before! You were pretending to do that mind-reading act at the theatre, oh, must be a few months back now for you."

"You can read minds?" Donna asked, giving Jeff a somewhat wary look.

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Then how? Mirrors? Plants in the audience?"

The Doctor snorted. "He's got a bit of a better system than that, Donna, but never mind that now. Thing is, I've got a bit of a problem on my hands." He stopped, as if trying to figure out the best way to explain it. Turning to Jeff, he said, "Considering the circumstances, you'd call yourself an open-minded man, wouldn't you?"

"I'm listening," Jeff answered, unwilling to commit himself to anything either way.

"Right, then. Best way about it is to be blunt." The Doctor took a deep breath. "I'm a time traveller. Right now, I'm breaking one of the cardinal rules: crossing my own timeline. Nothing I haven't done before, but something's off this time, and I can't put my finger on it. I don't know what it is. I _thought_ it might be due to your friend here—Marty, wasn't it?—but then it kept going, and it got stronger. I—"

"Wait up there just one minute, spaceman," Donna interrupted. "Who's this 'Marty' of yours?"

"He's a ghost," Jeff answered sharply, temper short already.

"_Well_," the Doctor corrected, dragging the word out a bit, "_technically_ he's a lasting impression of the human that once was, hanging around because of a belief, I'd guess, since sometimes if a person believes strongly enough in something the mind doesn't accept the idea of moving on and instead retains enough to hold a form which can generally only be seen by the odd person. Granted, there are always claims about lighting and such, but most of that's just imagination, although there are some cases, particularly in Cardiff, where it could have been the Gelth, but for the most part—"

"Like a data ghost?" Donna cut in, looking a touch more pale than she had before.

"Well, somewhat, but the form is retained as well, and the speech—"

"And why can you see him when I can't?"

"Oh, well, not a lot of things slip by me," the Doctor answered. "Murderer's a ghost, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"So you mean that bloke who was…." Donna made a face. "He was being…."

"Haunted, yes. But I've looked into it. He shouldn't have been. That ghost should be satisfied, his spirit settled. Raymond Miller, wealthy man, lived in the late 1800s. His daughter, Patricia, went missing in 1879 and was found three days later, raped and murdered. Raymond, it seems, was determined to hunt down her killer. In the meantime, he was campaigning to clean up the streets of London, rid society of its filth—" and the disgust in the Doctor's voice could not be more clear when he said this "—and he was using his influence to be rid of the poor people who ended up on the streets. But in 1893, Phillip Giles pled guilty to the charge of the rape and subsequent murder of Patricia Miller. Raymond was practically on his death bed by then, but he would've known the outcome. He would've believed justice had been served. There was no reason for his ghost to come back to look for the murderer."

"Unless it wasn't Phillip Giles who killed the girl," Jeff put in. Realizing what he'd said, he shook his head in disgust. He didn't want to go along with this any more than he had to; he just wanted answers. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to believe everything you've just said, but let's go back to the basics, shall we? And this time, try to stay on topic. First off, do you have a brother?"

"Not anymore," the Doctor answered softly. After a pause, he continued, more cheerily, "But I told you—I'm a time traveller. _I_ was on the murder scene today, not the other me. _He_ was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, no, _I_ was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and _he_ had spent enough time in one place to have to set up shop. People recognized me—well, I say me, I mean him—and they talk, and people eventually put two and two together. I'm telling you, I really had no idea what had happened when the police came to arrest me. Well, not really. I had a suspicion. Well, it was a rather strong suspicion. Only reason I couldn't call it a fact is the same thing as what's bothering me now: the associated pain and energy drain when I come too close to my other self. That, and the reverberation I felt when I first arrived here. Hadn't been quite sure what that was then, either, really. Just suspicions. Strong ones. Well, mostly strong ones."

"Pull the other one," Jeff deadpanned, clearly not amused.

"You talk to a ghost and you don't believe I'm a time traveller?" the Doctor exclaimed. "Blimey, what is the world coming to? Back in the old days, they would've believed me. Might've tried to behead me or string me up or burn me at the stake, at the _very_ least ban me from ever returning to the country, but you don't even _believe_ me…."

"He gets like this sometimes," Donna confided. "Sometimes it's just best to wait it out. Or you can slap him; seems to bring him to his senses."

"That would require him to have some to start with," Jeff shot back, "and I, for one, am not convinced he does."

"You're the one with the invisible friend," Donna pointed out.

"Oi, Donna, that's not nice," the Doctor scolded, grinning. "Marty's as real as you or me. Well, real as me, anyway, seeing as you lot are still disputing my existence and will be for quite some time, from this perspective." Turning back to Jeff, he resumed his explanation. "I got stuck here, in 1969. Lost my transport. I was with my friend, Martha. She's moved on now, and I'm travelling with Donna, but the TARDIS—that's my ship—she, well…." The Doctor frowned. "You know, I don't really know whether we were knocked off course or if she _meant_ to bring us here. Really ought to check that. Could be important." He considered this for a moment and then shook his head. "Anyway, there are two of me in this time period. Well, might be more, actually, but they won't be causing us any problems. Point is, time travel is a delicate thing. And there are rules, rules that even _I _try to abide by. And this…this makes your bull in a china shop scenario seem trivial."

"Well, if the universe is going to implode on us, Doc, you might as well tell me." Jeff smirked. "I won't have to figure out how to pay my bills then."

"You still don't believe me." The Doctor sighed. "Let's put it this way. My other self has suspicions as to what is going on, yes. But I was never able to confirm it, not really, not beyond any doubt. _That cannot change_. It's not fixed, not really, but it's a pivotal point. The universe needs balance, and tipping that balance, one way or another, has consequences. Time is at the base of that balance. If it wobbles too much, something might crack. I fix those cracks. That's what I do. But you can only patch something so many times." He frowned, adding, "And don't call me Doc. I haven't exactly had the best experiences with that."

"Look, _I _don't even know what you're trying to say, Martian boy," Donna declared. "And I've hung around you for a lot longer than he has." She jabbed her thumb in Jeff's direction. "Could you try it again in English this time around, do you think?"

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. "Look," he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Maybe it'll make more sense to you after. I don't have time to explain it properly now. I have to make sure that history's on the right course, that time's not turning on us. _Something_ is obviously taking advantage of a potential paradox, and I can't just leave them to it and then try to deal with the Reapers when they come to fix it up _their _way. I thought for once this was just a simple human mystery, nothing alien about it, no need for my expertise, but now I'm not so sure. I thought it was purely some of your supernatural beliefs coming to a head, but now…." Another frown. "You lot can't explain everything away, though that's not to say you don't try." He glanced at Jeff. "You can't explain how Marty's here, can you?"

"Not really, no," Jeff answered, "though I thought you gave it a shot earlier. Do you have anything to add to that garbled nonsense?"

The Doctor plunged into his explanation, pacing, either not noticing Jeff's tone or not caring about it. "Emotions play a large part in keeping a spirit caught on earth. Marty said he was murdered, correct? He wanted justice. He didn't want his murderer to go free. And his wife—Jeannie, wasn't it? He still cares about her, doesn't he? And there's his belief. He's believing in something, isn't he, that keeps him here?"

Slowly, Jeff nodded. "Some ancient rune or something. I thought it was utter nonsense, myself. Sounded more like a nursery rhyme. Marty always was one to turn up strange things like that."

"So what's keeping him here?" the Doctor challenged, stopping in front of Jeff.

Jeff shrugged. "He said his grave rejected him. Ghosts aren't supposed to be caught in the daylight. They're cursed to a hundred years on earth if they are."

The Doctor shook his head. "No, no. No. Not really. That's just a _belief_. That's all that's keeping him here. But you can't prove that. You won't be able to convince Marty that he can go on any time he wants, now, can you? Of course not. Because he'll think he has evidence that his belief is right, if he says his grave rejected him. So he's stuck here, bound by belief. A bit of a matter of faith, I suppose. First off, it's easier if you believe there's something after life. Some do, some don't. Then, after you go through whatever ritual of passing you think takes place, you get wherever you think you're going. _Unless_ something is holding you back. In his case, it was. So here he remains. That explains Marty, simple enough, but it doesn't explain our Raymond Miller. His ghost is supposed to be satisfied. We need to find out why it's not."

"Fine. I'm not going to argue with you." Jeff leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Let's pretend you're right. So what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to find out why this ghost isn't 'satisfied'?"

"But that's the thing I was saying in the first place," the Doctor said, sitting back down. "I looked into it already. Everything's right as rain, far as emotions and beliefs and whatnot go. There _isn't_ anything keeping him here."

"So it's impossible, you mean," clarified Donna.

"Yup," the Doctor answered, popping the 'p'. "Which means I've a job ahead of me figuring it out."

No. No, not for one minute was he going to fall for it. Jeff got to his feet. "I need some time to think. You two stay here. I'll be back at the office, and then I may pay Inspector Large a visit. I want to see what your so-called other self says."

"You can't!" The Doctor cried, jumping up after him. "He can't know! I didn't realize it until I came here, not for certain! I—"

But Jeff slammed the door to his apartment behind him, cutting off the Doctor's protests. Whatever happened to the easy life he'd led, back when it was just investigating normal murders and divorces and the odd case of embezzlement? Even protecting someone or something; he could handle that. Much easier than this. It followed logic.

And logic, it seemed, stood a snowball's chance in hell of being useful now.


	5. Chapter 5

There was someone waiting for Jeff on the steps outside his office. He resigned himself to finding out what she needed. But before he could open his mouth, the woman jumped up. "Randall?" she asked.

A bit taken aback, Jeff nodded. "Yes. Jeff Randall. And you are—?"

"Miriam Becker," she answered swiftly. "I am glad to have caught you, Mr. Randall. I require your services."

It was late—late enough that he didn't know why she thought he might be back at the office today. And he was never paid for working after hours. But if the lady had a case for him, he couldn't turn her down. No matter how eccentric she might be. "Of course, Mrs. Becker. If you would just allow me, I'll be more than happy to invite you into my office."

"Oh, of course." The woman was not flustered. If anything, she looked smug as she stepped aside. "You were recommended to me, you know. I don't take on just anyone for sensitive cases like this. It has to be someone with some credentials."

"I'm very flattered," Jeff said, unlocking the office door, thinking that whoever had recommended him must have known that he kept odd hours or else she wouldn't have tried seeking him out at this hour. Miriam Becker wasted no time in pushing past him to get inside. He followed her, closing the door behind him, taking his seat behind his desk while she stood resolutely in front of it. "Now, if you would mind enlightening me?"

"I'm here on behalf of my husband," she announced. "He's a silly old codger, my Gilbert. Won't listen to reason. Won't keep up with the times. I, for one, do not trust the police with everything. I'd like you to do a little investigating on the side." She paused, her tone sobering. "My daughter, Lucy, went missing three days ago. The police finally found her. Said she was raped and murdered. She was to be married this year. In June. After we'd waited so long…." Miriam broke off. "I don't know who can walk this earth having committed a crime as horrible as that, but I want you to find them. I'll understand if they can't be killed outright, but I want them behind bars for the rest of their days. I don't want another mother to have to suffer through what I did."

He'd wanted a normal murder case. Now he had one. "Do the police have any suspects?"

The woman opposite him snorted in a very unladylike manner. "Of course not. Not that they've said. Jim—Jim Tarrow, he was to be my son-in-law—wasn't even in town when it happened. Business trip to Glasgow. "

She went on to explain what she knew, which wasn't very much. Most of it wasn't even pertinent to the case, as far as Jeff could see, but he recorded what he could nevertheless. One never could tell. His best bet, he figured, was trying to track down this Jim Tarrow to see if he knew anything. The police would do the same, but it was worth a shot. Business trips, he knew, could be faked. And if they didn't have any other leads, well, he wasn't going to ignore any possible options. At least he knew what the man looked like; Miriam had thoughtfully brought a picture of the entire family.

"Mrs. Becker," he began when she had finished her story, "if we could discuss the little matter of my fee…." And they did. When they left the building again, he was a little bit richer; she'd given him half of it up front. He would receive the rest when he solved the case. It wasn't his standard procedure, but he wasn't one to argue, not when he was confident in his ability to solve the case. Besides, it was the best luck he'd had in ages.

But for some reason, it just didn't sit well with him.

Back in his car, headed towards the police station, Jeff managed to call Marty to him. It didn't always work, for some reason. Marty could tune into him or into Jeannie, but he didn't always hit the nail on the head and find them. Sometimes, it even seemed like he had a sixth sense and would know if one of them were in danger.

Unfortunately, Marty was new enough to the ghost business not to have much skill in anything, and Jeff wasn't about to depend entirely upon his skills if he had a choice. Not that he'd tell Marty that. The best he could do was encourage Marty to keep trying new things, like rattling teacups. It was bound to come in handy sometime; those vibrations certainly had, and he'd been left to eat his words last time. Still, things were in their favour now, and after Jeff hissed Marty's name about four times, he popped into the passenger seat.

"What's the matter, Jeff?" Marty asked, sounding genuinely worried.

Jeff bit back a scowl. "You know very well what's the matter, Marty. This whole thing. It's just plain crazy!"

"Well, you didn't call me here for nothing," Marty reasoned.

It was true, as always. "I need to know what you've found out about this Doctor John Smith. I thought he'd try to feed me a pack of lies, but he skipped that and went straight to utter nonsense, going on about time travel and timelines and whatnot." Jeff thought about mentioning the Doctor's theory to Marty, about what held him here on the earth, but he bit it back. Now was not the time. "You checked on the other one, right? Could he see you? Is he psychic, too?"

"I don't really know, Jeff," Marty answered. "I'd talk to him, but he just seemed to be thinking. Stared straight ahead, not even blinking. He'd looked to be in a bit of pain before, when we were all just outside the station, but he seemed well enough afterwards. I thought I saw his eyes flick to me a couple of times, but it was almost as if he was waiting for me to make the first move."

"Or waiting for someone _else_ to make that first move." Jeff eased the car into a parking spot just outside of the station. "I'm not convinced this isn't part of a bigger plot, but I don't know what they'd be trying to accomplish."

"But you're not dropping the case," Marty stated, watching his friend closely.

"No," Jeff agreed after a moment. "Even though it's _not_ a case." He paused, then added, "I'm curious, Marty. I want to know how it's all going to play out. In the meantime, I've a job for you. A Miriam Becker came to see me about the murder of her daughter…." And so it went; with the story told, Marty rather grudgingly popped off to watch the victim's family to see if there was anything suspicious going on, and Jeff prepared himself to face the good Inspector Large who, at the best of times, seemed to be determined to find a way to get Jeff himself behind bars. It was never, Jeff had to admit, a particularly pleasurable experience when he dropped by to chat with the inspector, but some things couldn't be helped.

* * *

"You don't mind answering a few questions, do you, Smith?"

The Doctor looked up from his cot to see Inspector Large standing at the door. "Might as well," the Doctor answered, "seeing as you're not liable to ask me anything that'll inadvertently set off a paradox that'll unravel the theoretical fabric of the space-time continuum, causing the very walls of the universe to break down and collapsing reality in on itself. Not that we'd know anything, you and I, being at the centre of the implosion. Be over in an instant. Less than. A billionth of an instant. Well, not even that. A—"

The inspector wasn't having any of it. "Why were you at—?"

"Aw, you don't even need to go down _that_ line of questioning!" the Doctor protested, interrupting Inspector Large. "I _wasn't_ at the crime scene. I don't know who was murdered. I don't know why. I'm _beginning_ to have a good guess as to why _you_ think that I was there, but I'm not willing to open my mouth to say it, because I am in potentially a good deal more—"

"What were you attempting to build?"

"Timey-wimey detector," the Doctor answered promptly, switching tracks with surprising ease. "I need to be—"

"This isn't a game, Smith," growled the inspector.

"I'm not treating it as such," the Doctor answered politely. But then he went on, unaware of the effect of his words, saying, "I'm answering every question truthfully, seeing as I'm sure that's what you intended, otherwise there wouldn't any other point to questioning, and it's funny how you lot always assume things. Sometimes, even when the truth is staring you in the face, you're in stark denial, sticking with what you assume to be true. Now, I won't say my people weren't like that once in a while, but you'd really think that in light of your past achievements—crawling out of the water, coming down from the trees, what have you—that you'd still have some ability left to adapt to situations, but I'm starting to think that that's been taken out of you. And what I _really_—"

"Do you know how long we can hold you, Smith, with what I can charge you?" Inspector Large snapped.

The Doctor was fairly sure he was about to be treated to a list of any number of things, so he thought he'd save the good inspector some time and cut right to the chase. "You can't hold me at all," he replied evenly. "Not past twenty-four hours, at least. No evidence. Well, nothing you can prove. Not without doubt." He leaned forward a bit, looking up at the inspector. "And once the court sees my credentials, I'm sure they'll realize that this is all a terrible misunderstanding."

"Your credentials?" Inspector Large roared. He took a moment to calm himself, already berating himself for slipping. "You haven't got any credentials worth anything."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. I'm not called the Doctor for nothing," the Doctor said, grinning. "Me, I could go on about most anything. I will admit that my temporal aeronautical higher theoretical fundamentals are a _bit_ rusty, but practical demonstrations are a snap. Course, I can't offer to give you one, for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that I don't have my transportation with me, though I'd be more inclined to say it's more your mindset that causes a bit of a bother, since someone who simply hasn't—"

"Smith!" The Doctor abruptly ceased his rambling, looking expectantly at Inspector Large. "There are—"

"Aw, you're going to name off statistics at me, aren't you?" The Doctor shook his head. "No need, really. I can say it for you, if you like. Save you the trouble. Or I could just not mention it at all, since neither you nor I really _need_ to say something that we both know, though I will say that I wasn't at that crime scene, since that seems to be something I know and which you are stubbornly refusing to acknowledge. And because you are harbouring the false belief that it was _me_ at that murder, you seem intent on having me convicted of a crime that I not only did not commit but also at which I was not even present."

The inspector opened his mouth, but the Doctor ploughed on regardless. "But," he continued pointedly, "you really don't have any evidence to prove it, so you're shunted back to the harsh reality of your little world and forced to realize that sometimes questioning a so-called suspect really and truly is a waste of your preciously scarce time—which incidentally isn't what you lot think it is, and I would know—but the truth of the matter is that I actually am rather glad of the fact that you haven't figured much out." The Doctor grinned inanely at Inspector Large, who looked, he would say, nothing less than livid. Not _quite_ positively purple with rage, but near enough. "And, hello," the Doctor added, cocking his head slightly for emphasis, "I'd say you have company."

Sure enough, the door to the cell opened. "Inspector Large, Randall's here," the doorman—sergeant, the Doctor supposed, according to the uniform, though why he'd be stuck there was beyond him—reported. "He insists on meeting with you."

Grumbling, the inspector left the Doctor alone. Grinning, the Doctor settled back on his cot. He wouldn't be having another interruption for a while, and if he tried, he might even be able to cut that one even shorter. Because he really was much too busy to be dealing with everyone else's problems, though if he didn't solve his, everyone else might not need to worry about theirs, and he'd be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. Considering that that solution involved a rather large amount of death and destruction with the nearest universes collapsing into complete and sudden oblivion, however, he'd prefer to avoid that if at all possible.

He was fairly sure he was in the area. Well, he being his other self, quite possibly—well, actually, nearly undoubtedly probably—his _future_ self, though at what point he couldn't hazard a guess. Didn't really dare to try, either. Time had been a bit of a gnarled knot lately, but he'd just thought that that was him and that once he managed to complete the loop, the timeline would smooth itself out, so to speak. On closer inspection, it looked like someone had taken _that_, turned it inside out and folded it back in on itself innumerable times, fitting in bits and pieces here and there and wrapping a portion up and around to hold the entire mess together.

It was the bits and pieces that worried him most. They were fractured possibilities. Not much to worry about normally—just caused a bit of shifting in the peripheral worlds, generally, shuffling about to the closest probability of the expected outcome should the timeline take a wrong turn—but, well, things weren't exactly normal now, not even for him. If one of the possibilities cut into the timeline to become a reality, introducing a new pathway to the closest futuristic parallel world to the one they occupied now and treated as reality (the one he sometimes thought of as the true reality if he had to try to explain it to a lesser species whose abilities to grasp such concepts were generally pitifully pathetic at best, since it was the reality he knew was supposed to occur in this world, his own, and thus protected and preserved as he saw fit, particularly as he knew the consequences of letting even a single glitch get by him), then he was looking at a mess that made a paradox look like a piece of cake.

It was not something he cared to try explaining to Martha. Even looking over how he'd worded it in his mind, he doubted she'd be able to realize just how dire the situation was. Not that he'd want to worry her. Bit pointless, really. They either got out of it or they didn't. If they didn't, well, they wouldn't know, really. Collapsing realities and all that. But the fact remained that English was not a language that held the words for explaining the situation. Even if he just let the TARDIS translate another language for him, there was nothing comparable in the current vocabulary for even a remote synonym for the situations he needed to explain, and there wouldn't be for the next, oh, ninety-seven hundred years or so—at least in the language that was derived from English—and that was only in theory.

But there was still something…funny about it all. The timelines were doing…something. Twisted, gnarled, knotted mass though it was, it seemed to have some…central point. But try as he might, he couldn't find out exactly what that point was.

It gave him a bit of a headache, to be perfectly honest.

* * *

"What is it now, Randall?"

Jeff had to consciously remind himself not to shift his weight from one foot to the other. "Inspector," he began politely, "I understand that you have a suspect for the recent murders?"

Inspector Large's eyes narrowed. "None of your business, Randall."

"Ah, but it is, Inspector," Jeff answered smoothly. "I've another case on my hands, courtesy of one Miriam Becker. Her daughter—"

"Lucille Becker?" Inspector Large crossed his arms. "She acts quickly, then. We just had the body identified this afternoon. Girl was nearly beaten to bits. Can't have been a pleasant death. You think the man I'm holding is the one you want?"

"No," Jeff replied carefully, "but I think he may have some information. I'd like to question him."

"And I'd like to have a month of holidays, Randall, so I wouldn't have to deal with conniving people like you. What do you really want?"

"It's possible that my case and your murders are linked," Jeff put in, well aware that he was dodging the question.

"You don't have any evidence for that." The inspector kept his gaze even as he looked at Jeff. "Not if you just got the case. And we have no reason to believe that."

"I just want to talk to him," Jeff protested, feeling like he was losing the battle.

He was. "No reason," Inspector Large countered. "Good night, Randall. I don't need you wasting my time."

One of these days, he'd get some respect from the police force. One of these days, they would be able to collaborate to solve one of their mysteries. One of these days, he'd be able to convince them that he _wasn't_ committing the crimes he was solving. But those days, it seemed, were a long way off.

He wouldn't be able to talk to the bloke himself, not now. And if Marty wasn't getting any response, he had limited options. He didn't want to involve anyone he didn't trust. _That_ cut the list of possibilities down to one. And he didn't really want to explore that option; Marty'd have his head. But he didn't have much of a choice. If Jeannie was willing….

Finding the payphone didn't take long. Explaining the situation did. "You want me to do what, Jeff?"

Disbelief on the other end of the line. He should have expected it. "I need you to get in to talk to this bloke, Jeannie. I need to find things out about him. Inspector Large won't let me see him. Seems to think it'll ruin his investigation."

"Did he say that?"

Typical woman. They never believe a thing you tell them. "No, but he meant it."

"Don't you think this is a bit extreme?"

"It's the only way, Jeannie!" It had worked for O'Malley, after all. Now, he wasn't asking Jeannie to get picked up for being drunk and disorderly, but….

"I'd rather try my luck at simply asking to see him, Jeff."

"Inspector Large won't let you in!"

There was a pause. Then, "I'm not as much of a threat as you are. I'll get in there, Jeff, even if it's as simple as the pretence of a visit. What do you want me to ask him?"

"It's not…." Jeff stopped. "Look, just tell me your opinion of him. Get a feel for his character. See if he'll tell you what he thinks about being held there. Just…try to remember everything he says."

"And are you going to tell me exactly _why_ you want me to do all this?"

"I'll explain it in a bit," Jeff promised. "Once you see him, there's someone else I want you to meet."

"It's getting late."

"I don't think we have a lot of time, Jean."

A sigh. "I'll be over to your place later tonight, then."

"Thanks, Jeannie. This means a lot to me." And he meant it; it did. Even if it _was_ just to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted answers. This was the best way to get it.

* * *

The Doctor was staring at the ceiling when the door to the cell opened again. He didn't bother moving from the cot and kept his gaze upwards. Six thousand eight hundred twenty-one…six thousand eight hundred twenty-two…six thous—

"Mr. Smith?"

The Doctor turned his head and was on his feet in an instant. "Oh, hello there," he said, grinning as he took the blonde woman's hand and gave it a good shake. "I'm afraid I don't know your name?"

"Jean Hopkirk. Jeannie."

"You're not my lawyer, are you?" the Doctor frowned, dropping her hand. "Shouldn't think I need one."

Jeannie laughed, shaking her head. "No, Mr. Smith—"

"Doctor, actually," the Doctor corrected. "But to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I'm here on behalf of a friend." Jeannie's smile slipped slightly, perhaps at the memory of her conversation with that friend. "My friend, he asked me to see you. He thought…." She shook her head, giving a nervous laugh. "I'm terribly sorry about all this; how it must sound!"

"Oh, me, I'm used to things like that. Life's a bit…strange. Tends to be what I do, actually. Orders of events aren't always chronological, not from an outsider's perspective." The Doctor shrugged. "My fault, really. But it can't be helped." He stopped his explanation there, sensing that the woman in front of him wasn't one to follow his rattling rambles as easily as others, nor that she was one to simply shrug it off after the fact anyway, as many did.

Jeannie hesitated, and the Doctor suspected she was about to breach the subject that had brought her here. Sure enough, she said, "I understand you are being held here on suspicion of murder?"

"That's what they tell me," the Doctor answered cheerfully. "Utter nonsense, of course. I wasn't anywhere near the place. I was back at home with Martha. Poor girl's probably worried sick about me. Bit strange that she hasn't had the nerve to come by yet—I would have expected her half an hour ago—but that's not to be helped. She'll have her reasons."

"Oh, my." Jeannie looked truly surprised. "I could drop in, if you like. Tell her how you're doing."

The Doctor shook his head. "Nah, better not. I've a feeling that might raise more questions than it would answer." He could leave it there, he knew. She wouldn't think anything of it. But he was used to explaining. It…helped him think things through, sometimes. So he went on, saying, "I've been thinking it over, you see. And this isn't normal. Well, normal's relative, since normal for me is abnormal for you, but something's gone wrong here. And it shouldn't have. It's not even just a tiny mix-up. At least I don't think it is. It doesn't feel like it. That, or the matted temporal mess means I've got a job ahead of me in the future. Possibly both." He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking, not really paying attention to anything but his own thoughts.

"I beg your pardon?"

The question brought him back to reality. Right. He didn't even know this woman. Sure, she'd given him her name, but that didn't mean much, at least not with humans. She knew him as John Smith, after all. "Sorry. Got a bit lost back there. I just…. I've got a feeling there's a…friend of mine in town. Close friend. Well, family, I suppose you could say. Bit closer than that, but it gets complicated." He frowned. "Course, there's no point in contacting him, not if he's got a good memory. Problem is, things do slip my mind from time to time. Even important things. Even when I'm back where I started. And that is assuming that he's ahead of me. Got to be, of course. I don't remember this happening. Problem is, I'm not sure. And I don't like that."

"Did you…want me to take a message for you?" Jeannie asked, sounding as if she wanted to be polite and helpful despite being completely confused. Poor girl; she must be wondering what her friend had been thinking when she'd been sent to speak with him.

He was wondering that, too, actually, though he rather suspected he had a better idea than she did.

A knock on the door interrupted them. "Time's up, Mrs. Hopkirk," came the call.

The Doctor glanced at the door, then back at Jeannie, and made a decision. "Tell him…tell him potential paradoxal energy drainage. Just that. Potential paradoxal energy drainage. He'll have to figure it out. If I confirm that, it might just jog his memory. Get us out of this mess."

"But who am I telling?" Jeannie asked, looking flustered.

"You'll know him when you see him, trust me. I wouldn't be in this mess otherwise. And, if by chance I'm mistaken, however unlikely that may be, you won't get to deliver your message. But…. I'm fairly sure you will. Ninety-nine percent. Well, ninety-eight. Or near enough. Just remember: potential paradoxal energy drainage." The Doctor looked at the door again. "You'd better go."

Jeannie found herself ushered to the door and practically pushed out once it opened again. "Potential paradoxal energy drainage," the Doctor repeated, one last time. And then the door closed, cutting him off. He wasn't sure whether he was going to regret that. Too early to tell, really.

If he planned to trace its path, he needed to wait for it to get a little farther away from him.

Another minute should do it.

Grinning, the Doctor settled back down on the cot, facing the ceiling, and resumed counting the holes in the tiles. Six thousand eight hundred twenty-three….


	6. Chapter 6

Donna watched the Doctor pace the living room. "Are you quite finished?" she asked after his sixty-first round around the chesterfield.

The Doctor stopped and turned to look at her. "I've got to talk to Martha."

"Fine." Donna crossed her arms. "Let's go. Though you _could_ have told me earlier about getting stuck here with her."

The Doctor shook his head. "No. No, you can't come. Martha hasn't met you yet."

"Well, you're the one who's going to be walking in on your—" Donna stopped. "Wait. You—?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. That's right." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Won't be easy. Feel a bit queasy if I get too close to my other self; haven't figured that out yet. I—"

"Hold on, _you_ get queasy?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," the Doctor answered. "I'm not immune to everything in the universe, Donna." Pressing on, he said, "It won't take much to convince her I'm myself. Well, myself as in the one she's travelling with. Just need to pop back to the TARDIS, change into my brown suit…. Mind picks up strange things when it's out of sorts, looking for something normal. I already ran into her once like this; she might figure it out if she sees me again. Well, she might figure out something's up. Don't expect her to come up with this solution out of the blue."

A sigh, and then the Doctor, predictably, continued. She should be surprised—or, perhaps, the tiniest bit worried—he'd taken a moment to breathe. "But I'll have to finish the timey-wimey detector myself. I never did understand why it suddenly worked; I'd still had another piece to put in. A spring. And it'd gotten left behind at the apartment when the police collected their evidence; I didn't know where it had gotten to until it turned up in its place in the timey-wimey detector. But I never told Martha that. She always thought I'd had it finished before I was arrested. Not so. Though I will admit I always was curious as to why she'd been hinting at me _visiting _her. Illegally, of course. Thought I broke out for a bit of a chat. Well, broke out, broke back in, and left her. At least from what she told me. All makes a bit more sense now, to be perfectly honest. Though I don't think I'm remembering everything…." A brief frown, then a shrug. "It'll come to me."

"Oh, so you don't know everything, then?" Donna smirked. "'Bout time you admitted it."

"There are some things I don't think about," the Doctor said. "For whatever the reason. Sometimes it's just what this is: paradox prevention. Sometimes it's a reason to remember; sometimes it's a reason to forget. There are some things I'll bury so deeply, Donna…." He broke off. "I'll be back."

"And you're just leaving me here?" Donna exclaimed. "I don't _think_ so—"

"Well, you won't be wandering off," the Doctor reasoned. "Easier to find. I won't lose you."

"And wh—" But the Doctor was out the door before she could finish her thought. Figures. He _would_ do that to her. Again.

But if she was here alone, she might as well get a bite to eat. A cup of tea was not _nearly_ enough. She worked through the cupboards and the fridge, deciding that Jeff Randall must just be barely scraping by each month, if his stores were anything to go by; they were practically nonexistent. Still, she could scrape together enough for a bit of toast and jam, if nothing else.

She was just finishing up when Jeff returned. "Well?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "Learn anything?"

"That ghost isn't the only murderer acting out now. Someone else, a Lucy Becker, was raped and murdered three days ago. Found and identified today. No official suspects, but the police are probably checking out her fiancé, Jim Tarrow," Jeff responded. The fact that he was distracted reminded Donna of the Doctor, and while she found it amusing, she supposed that that was probably why he was telling her anything at all. "Where's your friend?"

"The Doctor? Out. Visiting."

"I thought—"

"He went to see Martha," Donna interrupted. "Wouldn't let me go. Said she hasn't met me yet. True enough, I suppose. I should consider myself lucky that he didn't start lecturing me."

"Why does he insist on that?" Jeff asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"And I still think the fact that you've got a ghost for a partner is bollocks," Donna retorted. "I'll believe it when I see it. Maybe you will, too." She thought for a moment. "Or I suppose you could just keep an eye on the news for the next forty years or so."

Jeff shot her a withering look. "I don't have time for games," he stated crisply.

"Oh, no, because you're so busy solving your new case," Donna replied dryly. "Nice thought, really. But I'm not buying it."

Jeff didn't argue with her. Pity, really. She could have used a good argument. She did keep talking, trying to provoke him to conversation, but it soon became apparent that he was honest when he said he didn't have time. He _was_ working on solving his new case. Not that she understood much with that, but that's how things go.

It was perhaps an hour or so later that someone else turned up on Jeff's doorstep—Jeannie Hopkirk. She was mortified to find Donna there, but as soon as she understood that she was not walking in on Jeff's date, she seemed to relax a bit. Enough for introductions, at any rate. Donna thought she was a nice person, overall. Still grieving for her husband, Marty. Apparently, Jeff had not told Jeannie that he talked to Marty on a regular basis. Just as well, as far as Donna was concerned, because if she was confronted with that information, she'd have tried to send Jeff to the loony bin.

"So what do you think of this bloke, Jeannie?" Jeff asked, finally getting to the point. Jeannie shot a nervous glance at Donna, but Jeff waved it off, saying, "Don't worry; she's part of this."

"He's a bit…eccentric," Jeannie answered at last, choosing her words carefully. "A tad hard to follow, and not very easy to read. But he doesn't seem like the type of person who could commit murder." She hesitated, fiddling with her hands. "He ought to talk to a psychiatrist the way he goes on, though. Doesn't make sense half the time."

"Oh, yes, that'll be the Doctor, all right," Donna confirmed with a roll of her eyes. "Jumps from one thing to the next; it's near impossible to follow him, let alone get one step ahead of him."

A small smile from Jeannie. "He does prefer to be called Doctor, then? Just that? As opposed to Dr. Smith?"

Donna nodded. "He'll go by that if someone takes to calling him it, but he much prefers Doctor."

"And what about—?" But Jeff never got a chance to finish his sentence. The door to the apartment burst open and the Doctor barged in, arms full of electronic mess. Donna couldn't make head or tails of it, to be perfectly honest, though there looked to be a main sort of component in the middle of it all.

The Doctor dropped the mass in a pile by the door. "There, then," he said, straightening up, brushing a bit of dust off his brown pinstriped suit; he'd left his coat in the TARDIS. "One thing done. I just—" He broke off, spotting Jeannie, who was staring at him. His eyes went wide. "Potential paradoxal energy drainage!" he exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. "Right! Nearly did forget about that, but that explains it, confirms it, narrows it down. I just need to think. Think, think, think! C'mon!" He started pacing the room.

"You…you were…." Jeannie couldn't find the words. "You were behind bars not one hour ago!"

The Doctor stopped and looked at her. "Not me. Well, yes, me, but not this me. That was then, this is now, so to speak. Technically, I'm still there. But I told you you'd know who to deliver the message to, didn't I? And wasn't I right? Turns out you didn't even need to say a word; I remembered the moment I saw you. Bit risky, that. Probably shouldn't have done it. But! No harm done, not now, at least none that's effective enough to register. Granted, time's a bit of a mess now. Comes with the territory, actually. Tends to be a bit of a mess whenever I end up, wherever that may be. Tangled history, that's what it is. Skewed time streams, twisting timelines…. Lucky it's not worse than it is, really." He rubbed the back of his neck, still staring off into space, thinking.

"My goodness, it _is_ the same person." Jeannie, Donna thought, looked completely shocked. Not that she blamed her. The Doctor had that effect on everyone.

"Potential paradoxal energy drainage," the Doctor repeated, rolling the words around in his mouth. "Potential paradoxal energy drainage." He shut his eyes for a moment, still mouthing the words. A moment later, his eyes flew open. "Of course! I can be so thick! It can't just be human, not with that. Something is feeding off the energy of a potential paradox! That's what's causing that pain; a sudden decrease in artron energy, draining reserve temporal energies. Bit like severe dehydration, actually," he added, no doubt seeing confusion on all three faces, though Donna was sure hers didn't look _quite _as sceptical as the rest.

The Doctor fished in his pockets for his sonic screwdriver. Once she realized what he was after, Donna handed it over. No doubt breaking-and-entering the old-fashioned way was a bit trying on the nerves, particularly when one was too close to one's other self. He couldn't fool her; she knew that's what it was. From what she could tell, it was getting worse, so how he managed to get in and out of the police station without his sonic screwdriver and without dropping to the floor in pain was beyond her. Still, he seemed focused enough now, snatching the sonic screwdriver from her hand and turning it on, scanning first himself, then her, and then the other occupants of the room. When the Doctor didn't explain himself, she opened her mouth and demanded that he do so.

"Those two are clean," the Doctor said, gesturing to Jeff and Jeannie. "Not a trace on them. Which makes sense, as they're not out of time. You don't have much, just the bit that you'd pick up travelling with me. It's to be expected. Me, on the other hand…." He grimaced. "Should've thought to check for it earlier, but you don't really expect it, not here. It—"

"Doctor," Donna interrupted, "what are you practically covered with?"

"Mylith traces," the Doctor answered, as if she should have known it the entire time. "They feed off changes in time. Parasites, really. Not harmful unless you've got too many of them, and they'll only last about twenty-four of your hours before they die if they aren't fed. Now, me, I'm a veritable feast for them, especially now. I'm here twice in one regeneration. To make it worse, my other self has become known." The Doctor made a face. "A bit too domestic for me, really. I prefer to avoid it, but I didn't have a choice. But because he's known, when I came back here, the potential for a paradox skyrocketed. There are any number of people who would mistake me for him and vice versa. One wrong step and _wham_!" The Doctor slammed his hands together, the resounding crack that resulted causing more than just Donna to jump.

"We're dealing with a paradox. Avoided it so far, thankfully, no help from you," the Doctor added, nodding towards Jeff. "Unauthorized visiting. Bad. I do _not_ need you mussing this up; history's been scripted, and I know how it's supposed to go, and I'll make sure it gets there, one way or another, _on time_. I am trying to limit the number of things I introduce to the past before their time." As if trying to convince himself, he mumbled, "But some things can provide useful distractions and be the hit of a party at the same time, thereby giving me time to slip off and investigate and track down droids…."

"Enjoying the show?" Jeff asked Jeannie dryly over the Doctor's ramblings.

She looked at him, clearly still not comprehending the situation. "What's going on, Jeff?" she asked softly, sounding worried.

Jeff sighed. "I picked up her," he pointed to Donna, "because she was trying to find the nutter over there. She—"

"He fell over me," Donna interrupted. "Can't watch where he's going. I'm lucky I didn't break anything." She let Jeff continue his story, interrupting where she saw fit, and finally they'd filled Jeannie in—more or less. Donna noticed that Jeff never mentioned Marty, and she followed his lead. Donna did her best to defend the Doctor, saying that he really was a time traveller, but Jeff seemed content to push the idea that the Doctor had a twin. Why, she didn't know. If he hadn't wanted this Jeannie involved, he shouldn't have involved her.

But the way he did it was almost as if he was trying to protect her.

Like the Doctor had tried to protect _her_.

Back in The Library.

Donna took a deep breath and opened her eyes, wondering when she'd closed them. The Doctor was fiddling with the mess he'd brought in. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at it, desperate for a distraction.

"It's my timey-wimey detector. Had to nip in and grab it from the police station, but it's none the worse for the wear. Martha couldn't understand why I didn't get it in the first place if I'd sneaked out, which is what I told her, and then she kept telling me that I'd better get back in there because it would be suspicious if I disappeared, and we didn't have our transport to leave. Just as well; I wasn't sure how to get rid of her once I met up with her. I knew there was some reason she hadn't come down to visit me at the station, even to ask what was going on or see how I was doing. That, and I wanted to see if the police left anything behind at the flat that I needed for the timey-wimey detector. Like my spring. And—"

"Yeah, this 'timey-wimey detector' of yours, what is it?" Donna looked over the mess sceptically.

"It's tuned to the fluctuations within the Vortex, sensing the ebb and flow of time, programmed to alert me whenev—"

"English."

"It tells me about the disturbances in the time streams and—"

"Doctor," Donna cut in icily, "as long as I'm not the only one you're explaining it to, would you mind putting it in layman's terms for once?"

The Doctor sighed. "It goes ding when there's stuff."

Jeff just shook his head. Turning back to Jeannie, he said, "Why don't you take Monday off and have a long weekend? I think I'm not the only one who needs it." The extra hours he'd spent today crunching numbers hadn't helped matters, because in the end, that was one reason he was in this mess. That, and a certain meddlesome ghost he had for a partner.

"You told me you had another case," Jeannie protested, albeit weakly.

Jeff sighed. "Yes, I do. But I don't need you for it, Jean. I shouldn't even have involved you in this." He smirked. "Marty would have a fit."

"Oh, Jeff." Jeannie swallowed. "I know it's been over a year, but…."

"I'm sorry, Jeannie." Jeff was quick to apologize, Donna noted. Well-trained. "I could just hear Marty lecturing me, that's all. He never wanted you to be in any danger."

Jeannie smiled, but she looked to be barely holding back tears. "It's silly, Jeff. It's terribly silly of me. I shouldn't be this sensitive. I know…. I know it's better where Marty is now. I just…. I miss him. It's still hard. Everyone's told me time will heal it, but…."

"It's a gaping hole in your heart, isn't it?" It was the Doctor speaking now. "More than—a hole in your soul. You aren't complete anymore, are you? You've been torn in half." There was a pause. "Healing hurts. That hurt never goes away, not really. You can dull it enough to push it to the back of your mind, eventually, but it's always there. We might be able to pick up the pieces and stick them together, but we can't pretend we weren't ever broken. Loss changes you, even if you don't mean it to. Time…. I suppose all of you would say time puts a distance between you and what you've lost. You can step back and examine the wound without tearing it open, without breaking down again. But it's still tender. It always will be, even if you no longer show it."

"I'll take you home, Jeannie," Jeff said, pulling her to her feet.

"But, Jeff, the car—"

"I'll pick you up and you can get it tomorrow," he said firmly, overruling her protests. "Come on."

The Doctor watched them go, silent. As for Donna, well, she was wondering why Jeff didn't just spare Jeannie all her pain and suffering and tell her about Marty. She hadn't thought she'd said anything aloud, but the Doctor answered her question for her. "She wouldn't be able to move on if she knew," he told her quietly. "And she needs to move on. She will. Natural process, grieving. She might not let go entirely, but she'll be able to enjoy life without feeling guilty."

"Still seems a bit cruel that her husband's hanging around and she doesn't know," Donna muttered.

The Doctor chose to ignore her, instead changing the subject. Typical of him. "It's not just the Mylith, Donna. It's something else. There's more Mylith about than there should be, for one. But what worries me is that something must have initiated it, and I can't think what." Seeing the look on her face, he explained, "They're dormant until the right conditions assert themselves—like plant seeds needing the right conditions for germination. They didn't cause the elevation of the paradox potential themselves—"

"No, you did, by coming here, from the sounds of it."

The Doctor shook his head. "No. Not really. We came, yes. We were the fuel. But something else kick-started the process before we got here." He thought for a moment. "What was Jeannie going on about when she said Jeff had a case?"

Donna shrugged. "Another rape and murder. He seems to think it's someone different, as opposed to Casper the not-so-friendly ghost."

"What did he tell you?" the Doctor asked, staring at her in an unnervingly calculating manner.

"Some girl was raped and murdered, that's all." Donna tried but couldn't pull the name from her memory. Serves her right for not paying that much attention. "Three days ago, I think."

"Three days," the Doctor repeated. "Three days. Three days. Three—"

"Is that important, or do you just like sounding like a broken record?"

"Three days!" the Doctor exclaimed, gesturing wildly, trying to transfer some of his excitement to her. "Three days!"

"And—?" It was no use. She still didn't get it. "What's so important about that?"

"Patricia Miller," the Doctor said. "Coalescing separate events, bridging the years—parallels," he clarified, no doubt seeing her glare. "It's a parallel. A similar miscarriage of justice, enough to reawaken a past manifestation of consciousness. But it's not just the Mylith. These traces were revived from their conservative cycle. They answered the call to feed and breed. Survival and reproduction; it's hardwired into nearly everything. They'll want to carry on. They'll be leaving Raymond Miller at last, finding a better host in the father of the latest victim."

"This other girl's father, then."

The Doctor nodded. "Problem is, to be sure, I'll need to scan that ghost. It'd be best to take a sample of the traces, but we don't have that luxury. And if we don't eradicate them before the victim's father meets his death, the cycle will start again."

"Well, that should be easy," Donna said. "He's probably not going to snuff it anytime soon."

"Normally, yes," the Doctor agreed. "But not now. He'll be marked. They'll want him dead before the murder's solved. Easier to control that way." The Doctor saw her face. "I think I know what it is; not many things can work in conjunction with the Mylith. And I'd say it's a case of mutualism, judging by how it's panning out. It's holding the manifestation—ghost—long past the time it would be satisfied to leave. It's playing on emotions; that's why I missed it the first time. It's cloaking itself under anger, vengeance, a sense of justice—everything the ghost would use to keep its hold on the world. Its disturbances tend to be enough to feed the Mylith. You must have heard stories; this can't be the first cycle."

Donna stared at him for a moment, and then realization and disbelief dawned. "You're kidding me. You have got to be kidding me. Are you trying to tell me that all the ghost horror stories you hear about are true?"

"Well, not _all _of them. Probably not even the majority. But some stick around for a reason, and not just because they make the best tales. Fables have a grain of truth in them, Donna. This is it. Certainly the tales of the dead coming back for revenge are drawn from these." The Doctor frowned. "And it wasn't as if I was just humouring Jeff earlier; Marty's real, too."

"Right." Donna thought for a moment. "And how do we get these alien traces in the first place?"

"The Mylith exist in time, drifting," the Doctor explained. "And if I'm right, the other traces are Zalvja. They would have come here through principal contamination, attracted to negative thoughts, drawn like sharks to blood. They're looking to feed, too. It's not their fault, not really. That's the way they are. But they're sort of like an alien virus, I suppose you could say. They don't really have a function. They aren't really…alive, not like the Mylith. They just exist. And they're terribly hard to get rid of."

"Great, we're dealing with alien bacteria and viruses." Donna made a face. "And there's some miracle cure for this, I hope."

"Not really, no. The Mylith will move on, once they're through their third cycle. I don't mind them, not usually. Then again, they aren't usually draining me." He grimaced. "They've been used as stabilizers before, when too many people were playing with time. A bit like decomposers, actually. They take rough bits of time and recycle the artron energy. If something starts down the wrong path and it is a minor disturbance, the Mylith will usually take care of it; the drain of their feeding will set time back on its initial course."

"Or off in a completely different direction?" Donna guessed.

"It's happened," the Doctor admitted. "Nothing that I can't fix when I find out about it."

"So how do we get rid of this other stuff? The Zaljef?"

"Zalvja," the Doctor corrected. "And how do you get rid of a virus? Prevention's all well and good, but it's a little late for that now. We have to get a vaccine."

"For a ghost."

"Well, a vaccine in a matter of speaking," the Doctor amended. "Not going to be as easy as giving it a dose of chemical and compounds in the arm." He sighed. "I'll need to fix the timey-wimey detector so that it can boil an egg at thirty paces. And that'll cause hens to blow, actually. Well, not technically the hens. The eggs. End result's the same, though, most of the time. And that won't be pretty. Necessary, but not pretty."

"What does _that_ have to do with _this_?" Donna looked disgusted.

"Frequency," the Doctor answered. "It just happens to be at the right frequency." He frowned. "I did wonder why that happened; I hadn't thought I'd done anything to it, but I guess I did. I can't know about this, you realize, Donna. Under no circumstances are you to contact the other me in _any_ way."

Made sense, she thought. Especially if anything like that fed those Mylith things. "Couldn't you just use the one you have in the TARDIS? It'd be easier, wouldn't it?"

The Doctor shook his head. "It's not fully assembled anymore, for one, since I needed the parts, and two—"

"You don't know where it is, do you?"

"That's three, and only because I can't remember why I didn't file the pieces under T for timey-wimey detector. Two is the fact that one object, albeit different in age, should not coexist in the same time—"

"You are," Donna said bluntly.

"I have experience with this," the Doctor retorted. "As I was saying, one object should not coexist in two places in the same time, not without some difference between them which would then render them to be two different objects, particularly when the operation of one would initiate the operation of the other, weakening the time stream. It has the same effect as taking future information and implementing it at some point in the past, causing the timeline to veer off in another direction entirely, shifting the universe to a parallel world if the change could not be rectified, decreasing the stability—"

"English, please."

"The paradox potential is too great, increasing the food supply of the Mylith and expanding the breeding grounds of the Zalvja, causing a weakening of the universe's walls that'll corre—"

"Oi! I said English."

"Two-thirds of the universe would be destroyed."

"And is that the worst-case scenario or the best-case scenario?"

"Neither, actually. Just the most probable."

"Lovely." Donna glanced at the electronic jumble that was the timey-wimey detector. "And you knew to get that because—?"

"Like I said, I never knew why it did that, not really. I couldn't figure out a way to change it and still have it work. Thing was, I never hooked it up that way. When I got it back, that's how it was. Martha never thought anything of it, so I didn't mention it to her. It worked, and you learn not to question things sometimes. Difficult, but you'll figure it out soon enough. Like now. I know what happened now. No need to be curious."

"You've been wondering for the past year, haven't you?" Donna smirked, confident that she was right. "I'm surprised you didn't come back before. Oh, wait, no, _that_ would count as crossing your own personal timeline—something you're not supposed to do. Except that you are."

The Doctor ignored her, beginning to piece together his precious device. Donna couldn't follow what he was doing, but it looked like he was gutting his machine and reassembling it. Quickly, too, but she supposed he already knew how it was supposed to be put together. But thinking about the details gave her a headache; it was easier to just watch. No point pestering for explanations when she wouldn't understand them; it didn't seem that he was in the mood to explain much of anything to her.

They weren't relaxing on Nyxa 4, but at least life wasn't dull.


	7. Chapter 7

The Doctor was up to something, Martha thought. Not that that was unusual, but he was up to something and seemed determined to leave her out of it. If that were the case, she'd prefer an explanation of some sort. But did she get one? Of course not. He was in one of his moods again, so he ignored her questions.

It was confusing enough that he had come back in the first place; hammering on the door like that nearly had scared her out of her wits. And when she'd asked him why he hadn't used his key, he hadn't answered, so she hadn't even bothered asking what was wrong with using the sonic screwdriver. Chances were, they'd searched him again and taken it away. Though if that were the case, she didn't have a clue how he'd gotten out in the first place.

"But if you needed to get the timey-wimey detector out of the police station, why come back here first? That doesn't make sense."

The pestering won through. "It's a bit complicated, Martha," the Doctor responded finally, examining a bit of metal before chucking it aside. "That, and there were people around it at the time, and I thought that if I was going to actually partake in a successful escape, I'd be better off leaving without anyone noticing."

Sometimes, she had to wonder if he actually _meant _to be that condescending. She watched him go through what was left, pocketing some things and tossing others aside. "But if you broke out, won't that make you look guilty?" She had to give voice to the thought as soon as it struck her. "They'd use it against you; I'm sure of it. And we can't exactly slip off like we normally might."

"Really? Never would've guessed. I'd have thought you enjoyed having a bit of a break, living life through as anyone might."

"I've got to support you," Martha shot back. "You have me working in a shop, no less! People talk!"

"Always do," the Doctor answered, winking at her. "But look at this way; we might get to see the moon landing again."

"We have, Doctor. Four times. And it's brilliant, really, but…." Martha threw up her hands. "I don't like being stuck here."

"But this time we'll get to live the experience," the Doctor said, though from his tone she knew he hoped they'd make it back before then…somehow. "Feel the excitement everyone else feels. You can get caught up in the moment."

Martha made a face. "I'd still give that a pass if I could get back home."

"I'll take you home, then, first thing. Promise."

He always said something along those lines whenever she mentioned going home. She was beginning to think that, whatever his intentions, it still wouldn't happen. Things never seemed to go the way the Doctor expected them to, especially if their last experience was anything to go by.

At least with the job she had now, she was spending considerably less time on her hands and knees.

Still, if he got himself locked up, she'd never get out of here. "Look. Just…go back to your cell, yeah? Pretend you never left. You said they can only keep you there for twenty-four hours."

"I did promise to take you hunting for murderers," the Doctor reminded her.

"Forget that," Martha said instantly. "We can do it after. It can wait."

"Someone else may have figured it out first."

There was definitely something he wasn't telling her. "Doctor," she began, "what's going on?"

"Oh, not much," the Doctor answered. "Police mistook me for someone, I expect. And I really wanted to finish off my timey-wimey detector. I've a schedule to keep; can't get behind. In a wider view, you could say that—"

"Doctor," Martha interrupted, "I mean, what's bothering you? Is it that thing that happened earlier? Is there anything I can do?"

The Doctor sighed. Perhaps he figured, finally, that he might as well be honest with her for once. "Yes, it's bothering me a teensy bit, but no, there's nothing you can do. I'll sort it. Quick as can be. Promise." A slight pause. "As soon as I finish this."

"But that's not as important—"

She should have known better than to contradict the Doctor. "This? It's _more _important. If I don't finish this before Billy Shipton arrives, we won't be able to find him, and if we can't find him, Sally Sparrow won't get the message to look at the list, though at that point there wouldn't _be_ a list to look at, because we won't be able to get the Easter egg on the DVDs, and if we don't give Sally the clues to piece it together, then she won't be able to send the TARDIS back to us, and since she will still take the key and lead the Weeping Angels to the TARDIS, they will be able to open it and feast off the time energy and the damage they could do—"

"Yeah, yeah, it could switch off the sun, I know. And that's bad. Very bad. But, well, your dropping dead won't help matters much, either," Martha groused.

"Won't be doing any dying. Trust me." The Doctor winked at her again. "Bad habit, that. Much better to avoid death and have all the close calls catch up to you later."

"You're expecting to die." Martha wasn't sure how to take that. He was _the Doctor_. He _couldn't_. He—

"Everyone dies, eventually," the Doctor replied. "Me, I might cheat a few times. Well, I say a few, I mean more about a dozen. But, no, not planning on it anytime soon, so you don't have to worry about anything." He looked up at her and smiled, pocketing one last piece for his timey-wimey detector. "You worry too much, Martha." And then his smile became a sly grin. "Bit like your mother. Wasn't Francine trying to ring you just the other day?" And before Martha could muster a reply, he was out the door.

"You'd better be headed back to your cell, because you sure ain't sleeping here!" she yelled after him. Infuriating. Why did he always have to be right? Tish told her the same thing. And Leo. _And_ most of the family friends.

Twenty-four hours, he'd said. They could only hold him for twenty-four hours. If they'd nabbed him at night, it must surely mean that they had something to go on and that they were just tracking it down. Then again, she supposed it would mean they'd be working all night either way. But if they had any doubt that the Doctor was the suspect, wouldn't they have waited? That meant they had evidence, regardless of what the Doctor kept telling her. From the Doctor's earlier reaction, he had figured out exactly what that was.

And he still didn't tell her.

Okay, she'd buy the fact that he couldn't—or at least wouldn't—tell her everything. Half of it she wouldn't understand and she'd even admit that, though she'd still be willing to try. But surely _this_ was important enough. If the Doctor knew why he was being held, why didn't he tell her? He was right; he was memorable enough. She'd never forget him, not ever. And she'd cherish that first confused memory as much as the rest, when he walked up to her, taking his tie off, showing her—though she didn't know it at the time—that he was capable of travelling in time.

But he trusted her. She knew that. He trusted her with lots of things. He'd given her a key to the TARDIS, after all. And he'd trusted her with his life before, when they'd battled the Family. Surely that counted for something. So why not trust her with this, whatever it was? It couldn't be more important than the Doctor's life or the safety of the TARDIS—could it?

No, she was being silly. It was just the Doctor being the Doctor, trying to protect her from the monsters. She wouldn't pretend that there weren't times she didn't _need_ the protecting, but she could take care of herself. It was just a lot easier to do that if the Doctor chose to enlighten her on what to look out for.

She could always find out for herself. It wouldn't take much if she played her cards right. And it would take her mind off the fact that something was wrong with the Doctor. Maybe he was right; maybe she _did _worry too much. But half the time, she had cause to worry. And she was fairly sure that this was one of those times.

Before she could change her mind, Martha grabbed her keys and coat and headed out the door, locking it behind her. She was going to figure out what was going on, and no one was going to stop her. Not the Doctor, not her mother, and certainly not the nagging little voice in the back of her head. She had a feeling she was right this time.

* * *

Marty hadn't found anything out by observing the Becker family. They grieved, yes. But only privately. They were English, and they moved on. They had tea. They took care of their affairs in an orderly manner. They shied away from public displays of affection and accepted offers of condolences with grace. They behaved crisply and properly, with utmost dignity, and no one outside the home would know that anything was wrong.

But inside, Marty could see them crumbling. A hesitation when reaching for the sugar before slowly withdrawing a hand; no one in the household took sugar in their tea now. A catch in the voice, tripping over a word, remembering something that could never happen again. Lingering in empty rooms, flooded with memories of good times and bad, times when the rooms had been full of life.

Everything was a painful reminder of a hope that would never be realized.

It was odd, though. Jeff had told him that Miriam was the one who had had a bit of a vendetta against her daughter's killer. To Marty, it seemed that Gilbert was angrier over his daughter's horrific death. Angry and…. It was strange, but he almost seemed scared. It didn't make sense, but that was the impression Marty got from the man's body language.

They didn't have another daughter to worry about, after all, harsh as that may sound. And it wasn't a fear that the killer would escape to murder again. It was…it was almost as if…. But Gilbert had no reason to fear for his own life, as far as Marty could tell, beyond the possibility of failing health in old age, and he still seemed a ways away from that. So he was afraid of something else. What it could be, Marty couldn't say.

When the couple began to prepare for a fretful night of sleep, disturbed this time by horrific truths instead of frantic worry and imagined fears, Marty decided it was safe to go check up on Jeannie and check in with Jeff. He found them both at Jeannie's apartment. Jeannie was worrying about something, from the looks of it. She didn't understand something, and something about that, whatever it was, worried her. Marty knew that look. He hoped Jeff would be able to tell him what was wrong.

He had asked Jeannie immediately, of course. It was habit. Hard to break. But she didn't pay him any mind, and he remembered. So he had to turn to Jeff. "Well?" he asked quickly. "What's the matter with Jeannie?"

"Just a bit of rest, Jeannie," Jeff said, pushing a cup of steaming tea into her hands. "You need it. We all do."

"I know, Jeff. It's just…. It was uncanny." She smiled and sipped her tea, hands wrapped around the cup, clinging to reality.

"What was uncanny, Jeannie?" Marty asked immediately.

Jeff shot him a look, one Jeannie didn't miss. "What's the matter?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "Nothing, Jeannie, really. I just have a feeling that that Dr. Smith of ours isn't telling us all he knows."

"He doesn't make a lot of sense," Jeannie pointed out. She bit her lip. "I know Jenny and I were wrong when we thought you'd gone round the twist after Marty's death, Jeff, but this time…. I think I'm right this time. The way the man rambles on, talking about timelines and being in two places at once…. It's just not possible." She gave a weak laugh, almost forced. "About as possible as Marty coming back as a ghost, I suppose."

"I'd lay better odds on that, actually," Jeff muttered. "Look, Jean, I'll check up on you tomorrow, and I can get someone to bring the car around. And it's not any trouble, so no protesting."

Marty watched in silence as Jeff gathered his things together. "Don't leave yet," he advised. "She's not finished yet."

Sure enough, after a few moments, Jeannie began, "Jeff, when Dr. Smith was in the jail cell, he seemed worried about this woman, Martha. But that wasn't who was at the apartment, and he didn't seem worried about her then."

Jeff sighed. "Jeannie, I told you, he's got a twin, likely as not. He's playing games with us."

But Jeannie was shaking her head. "He doesn't believe that. Not really. The first one I talked to, he said that he wanted me to deliver a message, but he wouldn't tell me who I was to tell. He kept saying he wasn't completely sure, and that I'd know him when I saw him, and that whoever it was was closer than family. And then when I saw him again, at your apartment, he knew the message before I'd opened my mouth. But you saw the expression on his face; he hadn't remembered before, not truly."

"Mind games, Jeannie, though why we were dragged into the middle of it, I don't know."

"I'm not so sure, Jeff," she responded slowly. "I know you think I'm gullible. And I am, a bit, really, when it comes to Marty. I did believe that that man was him, or at least a small part of me did; he seemed to know so much! But this…this is different. Identical twins may be technically be just that, but they aren't that similar in life. Betty and Shirley have different personalities. Some characteristics and mannerisms are the same, yes, but not…not that much."

"Oh, Jeannie, you don't believe him, do you?"

"I don't know what to believe, Jeff," she answered honestly. "One part of me thinks he ought to be hospitalized so that he can get the help he needs, but another part…." She shook her head. "It's silly, but part of me wants to believe him."

Jeff sighed. "He's told me too many stories for me to believe him, but if he ever gets his story straight, I'll be sure to tell you. Then you won't have to wonder." He smiled at her. "Curiosity killed the cat, Jean, so sometimes it's best to just let sleeping dogs lie."

She offered him a smile in return. "You're right, Jeff. Thank you."

"Goodnight, Jeannie." Once she had responded in kind, Jeff left the apartment. Marty trailed after him.

"What's all this about?" he asked. "Why did you drag Jeannie into the middle of this? When did you get her involved? And what's she going on about, with this Doctor Smith?"

"Same thing you were, Marty." Jeff chose to answer Marty's last question, avoiding the first few. "Wanted to believe Smith was just one person, when even he's admitted that there're two of them." Not technically true, Jeff knew, but as the Doctor had said there was two of _him_, it was near enough. It was the logical conclusion any sane person would reach, at the very least. And Jeff was not about to think about the other so-called possibilities. "Go ahead of me to the apartment and meet up with them. I left them there, and I can't say I trust them. I'll be around in a few more minutes."

"Right, Jeff," Marty agreed with a nod. He popped over to the apartment and found Donna stretched out on the chesterfield, with the Doctor content to sit on the floor.

The Doctor's head snapped up the moment Marty entered the room. "Ah, good thing you're here!" he cried out, delighted. "Jeff's new case; what's the victim's name?"

"Lucy Becker," Marty replied before he could wonder why the Doctor was asking.

"And her father?"

"Gilbert. Mother's Miriam."

"She doesn't factor into the equation." The Doctor waved the name off, talking over Donna as she asked for confirmation that Marty was there. "Father, now, that's a different matter. You've seen them, haven't you?"

"The family? Of course. But what's it matter?"

"Have they found him? Have they found Gilbert Becker?" Undoubtedly seeing Marty's look of incomprehension, the Doctor continued, "Well, I suppose you wouldn't be able to notice them yourself unless you're an active carrier, but did anything strike you as odd about Gilbert Becker's behaviour?"

"Active carrier?" Marty repeated.

"Of the Zalvja traces. Mylith are secondary; easy to deal with them. I'm a bit more worried about the Zalvja, because if they've become established, I reckon they'll only need one more murder before transference is complete, and they'll be on to Gilbert Becker for well past the rest of his days, which would be cut quite short if they have their way and can frame him for this next—"

"Just a minute," Marty interrupted. "These traces of yours. They're sentient?"

The Doctor considered it for a moment. "I wouldn't say sentient. They're not alive. For all intents and purposes, they're like a virus. But I need to know if Gilbert Becker has been acting out of sorts."

"I don't know his habits to begin with, so it's a bit hard to tell," Marty answered, wondering why Jeff hadn't mentioned these traces the Doctor kept going on about. "He was angry and scared, but he's also grieving, and I'd say he's past denial. He looked like he knew he wouldn't see his daughter again, even if he only acknowledged that feeling as a pit in his stomach." Marty gestured to the Doctor's now-assembled electronic device, parts of which he recognized from earlier. "Didn't you have that at the other apartment? I thought the police took it."

"Yes, I did, and yes, they did, but I nipped over and got it back. I need it. I've just finished fixing it up, so it ought to project the right frequency now. Providing I'm right. And I'm sure I'm right. All we'll need to do is wait for the Zalvja at the weakest point, set it off, and _wham_! We'll have them!" The Doctor grinned. "Easy peasy."

"Wait just one cotton-picking minute, spaceman," Donna interrupted. Judging from the fire in her voice, she'd stayed quiet long enough, as far as she was concerned. "You told me this was going to be difficult."

"_Well_…." The Doctor pulled a face. "From the sounds of it, the Zalvja _have_ become established. Which means that they will be weakest when they're enacting their next murder, caught in the middle of a transfer. And I don't know where or when that'll happen, and it's not something on which I can simply triangulate a position, because the last murder victim of the Zalvja, the intended host aside, never fits the pattern. They select an anomaly for their prey."

"I thought you said these things were like viruses," Donna protested. "How can they have _prey_?"

"Once they've found a host, Zalvja adapt. They take on some of the host's characteristics." The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair. "We can try to draw them to a position we pick, within a few blocks, but there's no guarantee that it will work."

"And it's dangerous, too, I'll bet," Donna shot back.

"You'd be perfectly safe," the Doctor informed her. "All of you would."

"Well, isn't that just peachy. Why don't I believe you?" Donna made a face. "Oh, right, perhaps it's because the _last_ time you told me it was perfectly safe, it was just to get me to keep quiet!"

"I mean it this time. They won't harm you, Donna." The Doctor sighed. "Even Marty would make it through just fine, and he's already carrying some traces."

"I—what?" Marty looked down at himself and then back at the Doctor.

"And how'd you figure that?" Donna asked sceptically.

"He's been exposed to them," the Doctor answered. "He's not an active carrier, not yet. Hasn't been around long enough to become one, and his overriding emotions aren't the ones that they generally latch on to if they can help it. Plus, his belief—the reason he's held here—protects him. But I don't even have to scan him to know they're there. He told me about Gilbert Becker, precisely what I needed to know, and that was it. That's how I knew." At Donna's look, he added, "No concern. It doesn't take long for the Zalvja to work their way into something. It may be a bit of a wait for them to establish fully, perhaps six hours since the first infection—"

"Only six hours?" Donna stared at him. "Six _earth_ hours? Not six hours of some weird planet out there?"

"Six of your hours," the Doctor confirmed.

"But doesn't that mean their last murder will be tonight, if you're right?"

"Yup." The Doctor waited a moment before continuing. "Six hours. Less, now. Well, most days. No saying when Gilbert Becker became exposed to the majority of the traces. A few traces a person can withstand. But these will have been swarming to him. He wouldn't stand a chance if I wasn't here."

"If someone's going to be murdered," Marty started, "shouldn't we be going?"

"We're waiting for Jeff," the Doctor replied. "Well, I am. Only polite. And I have to try, because I have this unconscious tendency to be rude, from the sounds of it, and Rose would always point it out, but, well…." He trailed off.

Marty knew better than to ask, and no doubt Donna already knew what had become of this Rose. Instead, Donna spoke up, changing the subject back to something they should have asked earlier. "And how do we pick the position for the murder? What do we have to do?"

"Initiate the feeding of the Mylith," the Doctor responded. "Feeding frenzy. Zalvja will head right for it, looking for their anomaly."

"And how are we going to do that?"

The Doctor picked up the timey-wimey detector and clambered to his feet. "Now that Jeff's back," he said, motioning with his head to the door, "we head to the police station."

"Can't you just scan Marty if he's got the traces you need? Assuming he's still here," Donna added. "It'd make sense, wouldn't it?"

"Any trace he's carrying would be contaminated," the Doctor answered. "Wouldn't get a clear reading."

Jeff opened the door then, only catching Donna's last few questions. "So what if you're wrong and it's not the Zalvja? You said you wouldn't know for sure unless you had a chance to scan the killer ghost. So what are we getting into if you're wrong?"

The Doctor didn't answer her.


	8. Chapter 8

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Jeff demanded.

"You're driving to the police station," the Doctor answered in a tone entirely too cheerful for the situation. "And we're travelling with you. That is exactly what we're supposed to be doing."

"You know what I mean," Jeff hissed, not at all amused. "Why are we doing this?"

"To solve our collective problems, leaving you with your latest case, unsolved, free from alien intervention, just as you wanted it."

Jeff didn't ask how the Doctor knew anything about the case. He had a fairly good idea. "So these so-called alien traces of yours can be destroyed?"

"These ones, yes, if we play our cards right."

"I don't see how we got involved in the first place," Jeff muttered. "We shouldn't have been."

"You were involved from the beginning," the Doctor pointed out. "Before you realized it. Before I realized it."

"What beginning?" Jeff's eyes flicked to the Doctor and then back to the road. Nearly there. "I'd never heard of you before this evening."

"Martha and I were in the audience the first night you and Marty put on a mind-reading act," the Doctor reminded him. "Had everyone in the audience but me fooled, Martha included. Not that I told her. No need to spoil it. I tried being sceptical, but she preferred to believe. Her right." He stopped for a moment. "It began the night Marty came back, I'd say. No, no, after that—the day he believed he was trapped on earth. He became an anomaly then. The very kind of thing the Mylith look for. Small fish next to me, of course."

"Right. I imagine you'd pick up any number of things travelling about in time."

"Some things, yes, but if that were the case, Donna and Martha would be coated just as much as me. They're enough of anomalies as it is, being out of their own time. But me, I'm special."

"Oh, don't start," interrupted Donna from the back. "He'll go on if you let him. And I've heard all this before."

"I want to hear what he says," Jeff shot back. "I want to know how I got involved. And why. Marty and I have come across some unusual situations in our time, but this takes the cake. So, yes, I would like an explanation as to why he's involved us instead of letting us carry on with our own business. I'd like to know what he plans to do and why he thinks it will work. I want to know what's going on."

The Doctor sighed. "We need as many abnormalities in one spot as we can get, to be perfectly honest. But more importantly, I need Marty there. He is, as you call it, a ghost. He's a catalyst." Twisting around to look at Marty, he began to explain more fully. "You were in contact with Gilbert Becker. You know that the Zalvja were starting to infect him. Because of that, you all but confirmed to me that he will be present here tonight, once we initiate the Mylith feeding to draw the Zalvja here. The Zalvja that exist on you—however temporary that may be, as I have a feeling you are not an ideal host what with your belief being what it is—will encourage the others to come here. It will draw them. It—" The Doctor broke off, looking at Donna, who had started to laugh. "What?"

"It's just…it's just…." Donna took a moment to compose herself, but she was still snickering when she said, "You look absolutely mental when you talk to thin air like that!"

"Suppose that's to be expected," Marty mused. "Jeff's gotten enough weird looks. You gave him one yourself, earlier."

"Yes, well, some things can't be helped, can they?" Jeff ground out, not wanting to draw out unimportant conversations. "Look, it's not far now, and I'd prefer to hear my explanation before we land in the middle of a practical demonstration. What's going to happen?"

"That is what's going to happen," the Doctor answered. "By drawing the Zalvja, we'll draw Gilbert Becker to us. They will select their victim and poor Mr. Becker will find himself in the same position I did not too long ago: framed for a murder. With that unrest, the Zalvja will find a way to dispose of their host's flesh; they feed on the soul, twisting it, and the part that you would call a ghost is what they truly live on, once their victim has passed. But we're not going to let that happen. During the transfer attempt, we'll use my handy dandy timey-wimey detector, and the frequency it emits will kill them dead."

Jeff rolled his eyes, and though he was sure the Doctor didn't see him, the other man did pause. Then, "Well, as best as you can kill anything that's not alive, anyway. It'll inhibit them, and they won't be able to harm anything. Won't come out of that dormancy, either, not once I close the loop off so time can cycle again, undisturbed by that lot. The Mylith won't be able to withstand our interference. They'll be fed, yes, and some will be able to move on, but they won't be harming anything. The minute the loop's closed, they'll lose some of their energy. And the minute I leave, this me, with Donna, they won't have a food source anymore. The other me, with Martha—we're scripted into this time now. The events have happened for me. It's the crisscrossing that I'm doing now that's caused the problem, so once I'm gone, it'll be sorted."

"I don't know why I'm even listening to you," Jeff muttered, easing the car into a parking spot at the station. "It'd help if you'd explain what you say you'll explain and not go on about tales like you were before. I don't know why you keep going on about there being two of you and not bothering to…." He trailed off, casting a swift glance at the Doctor, who had gone rigid.

"What?" Donna was craning her neck around the back of the seat to look at the Doctor, sensing that something was wrong. "What's he doing? Doctor?"

"Marty, go check on the other one," Jeff ordered sharply. He started mumbling curses under his breath, trying to get the man in the passenger seat to respond to him. Donna wasn't helping matters, shrilling questions at him from the back seat.

After about three minutes of being unresponsive, the Doctor jerked back to life. "Sorry about that," he said, easing himself out of the car. "Bit worse than I'd anticipated, that's all. Wasn't as bad when I came to get the timey-wimey detector."

"You _stupid_—"

"Donna," the Doctor cut in, "now's not the time."

And, to Jeff's amazement, she quieted. Oh, she was still glaring daggers at the Doctor, but her mouth remained firmly closed. He wondered why she listened now. Was it the situation, the tone the Doctor had used, or simply a matter of trust and experience? Or something else entirely?

Marty came back then. "He snapped out of it," Marty reported. "Bit disoriented, I'd say, but the way he was grinning! And then he looked at me, right at me, and he said, 'He's here, isn't he? Brilliant.' That was the first time he ever acknowledged me."

The Doctor shrugged. "I wasn't sure how involved you were before, but when you showed up then, I knew. Not beyond any doubt, but I was confident. Well, usually am confident. Easier that way. And I've reason to be confident. I can count the number of times I've been wrong on one hand. Well, maybe t—"

"We get it," Donna interrupted. "Look, as long as I'm only hearing one half of the conversation, mind if we do a little less of the babbling and a bit more of the fixing? Because I do _not_ want to be stuck here for the rest of my life, and I wouldn't put it past you to have that happen! Not with _your_ track record, Martian boy."

"She's right," Jeff acknowledged. "According to you, we don't have a lot of time."

"Nope," the Doctor agreed, still too cheerful about the whole situation, judging by the silly grin plastered on his face. "But that was a bit of a wake-up call for the Mylith. They haven't begun their full feeding yet, and we've got until then, which I calculate to be roughly around the nine-point-two-three-seven…five…." The Doctor trailed off, seeing Donna's glare intensify. "Nine minute mark," he amended. After a slight hesitation, he added, "Give or take." When no one thought to speak in the short silence that followed, he continued, "The Zalvja will have picked up the initial disturbances from the energy draining of the feeding, and when the feeding's at its peak, the timey-wimey detector needs to be activated. That'll be your job, Donna."

"What? Why me? What else are you going to be doing?" When her objections didn't get her anywhere, Donna changed tactics. "I don't even know how to run the bleeding thing!"

"Hold this out, press this, and flip that," the Doctor said, indicating to the appropriate parts of the machine. Donna gave him a sceptical look, so he explained, "I added an attachment; that's about as simple as it's going to get." Before she could protest, he passed the machine off to her and turned to Jeff. "You have some fighting experience, I'm assuming?"

"Of course," Jeff answered curtly.

"Brilliant. You'll need it. You'll have to be looking after our old friend Gil Becker. He'll need to be contained. Man won't be in proper possession of his mind, not when he's chock full of Zalvja. Knock him unconscious if you have to, but don't cause unnecessary harm. He's not at fault, not really. Now, Marty." The Doctor's attention turned to the ghost of the group. "You're half done your job, seeing as you were here during the initial feeding stage of the Mylith. But I think you'll be able to speed the process up if you go between me and my other self. It'll agitate the Mylith, sending out stronger signals to the Zalvja, and if we're ready, we'll be whistling. Nothing to it."

Jeff was fairly sure that he was not the only one who disbelieved the Doctor now.

* * *

When Marty checked in on the jailed Doctor, he was met with the same beaming grin. "He's worked it out, hasn't he?" the Doctor asked immediately. "He ought to have by now. Not much to it. Well, not much to it if you have the proper equipment. And he does. Or he should. He's got his TARDIS, after all, even if I haven't. Though if he's been trying to corral you lot into doing something, then he must've come up with a plan. I can't say I particularly approve, seeing as how well plans tend to go when I'm around, even when—_especially_ when—they're my own, and I'm not convinced it's just bad luck, not all the time. He didn't actually _say_ it was a plan, did he? I'd hope not. Shouldn't think I'd get that absent-minded in my old age, saying things I shouldn't like that. Jinxing it, as you lot would say."

"You—_what_?" Marty stared at him, amazed. "You've worked this out? With what little you know?"

"Aw, me? I had it figured out ages ago. Well, near enough. Mylith traces, I'm betting. Not _completely_ sure what else. I've a few suspicions, but you lot haven't seen fit to enlighten me on a lot, have you? Just as well. I thought that it'd be easier to forget if I didn't admit it out loud, myself, but, really, I think he could use some help, don't you?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows at Marty, apparently expecting him to answer the question.

"But…but if you _knew_—"

"Ah, and that's why I had to forget. Have to forget. Did forget. Will forget. Will have to have had forgotten." The Doctor frowned, getting to his feet. "You lot don't really have a tense for that, do you? Comes with the limitations, I suppose, and I wouldn't wish you without them. But, me, well, that business of forgetting will be—was—essential. It's all too easy if I don't. And paradoxes, well, the _possibilities_ that can spring from it…. I don't fancy taking that risk."

The Doctor blew out a breath and flashed a smile at Marty. "Well, I have taken it before," he admitted. "But that was different. This is different. That was a short divergence, the closest one to this situation here. My other self vanished when history changed. And the other times, the differences were sufficient to keep time from coalescing. Well, the differences, my fancy footwork, and any other controlling forces that happened to oversee it and possibly be the cause of it all."

Marty had run all the arguments over in his head, but he couldn't come up with a different conclusion. It was a bit satisfying, really. He'd only held out because Jeff was so sceptical, but he knew the world was an unusual place. Knew it from first-hand experience. He'd come back, hadn't he? And if he could do that, then perhaps the idea that the Doctor was a time traveller wasn't as barmy as it had first seemed.

The Doctor had carried on speaking, but he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Marty. "Bit worrisome that I haven't pieced it together yet. Well, maybe I have. Maybe I just wasn't about to admit it. Forgetting's a nasty business sometimes. You need to tuck away the memories along with anything that'll cue those memories, and if you're on the verge of remembering before you think it's safe, you hide it away again. But that's always a terribly difficult call, seeing as if you can't remember what it is, you can't remember why you've forgotten it. The curiosity may be killing you, but it's often better just to shove those memories back before they can fully surface. It's best to simply put it together as things come. Of course, a bit of a shove in the right direction never hurts. And I already provided that. Even though I wasn't _completely_ sure at that point in time. Confident, yes, but there was still a chance that I was wrong. Well, a small chance. Minuscule, really. Hardly worth a mention. But still a chance."

"What did you mean," Marty began slowly, "when you said you thought he might need help?"

"Didn't I tell you?" the Doctor asked, looking mildly surprised. He'd started pacing but stopped at Marty's question. "The Mylith feeding—it'll drain me. Both of us. If I can get closer to him, to me, then we'll be able to speed the process up. That's why he sent you here, didn't he? To agitate the Mylith?"

"Yes, but _why_ would you want to speed the process up if it'll kill you?" Marty queried, astounded.

"Aw, that won't _kill_ me. Well. It shouldn't. Well, actually, it can't. At least not this me. Because if I—this me, I mean, me, now—was dying, I'd change. And then he wouldn't be there, not as he is. Not that you'd notice. Still, it'd mean that we wouldn't really be in this mess. So I can't die."

The Doctor hesitated, and a part of Marty wondered how much he believed in what he was saying. "Well. Not unless this instability in time compounds itself, diverting the timeline along the nearest fluctuation, which wouldn't be a very good thing, because chances are I've done _something_ between now and then, and I don't fancy thinking about what would be undone if time began to unravel along those events. I don't know what I've encountered yet, but in light of the things I've run into in my past, I think it'd be safest if I survived this. And if the Mylith feed quickly enough, there's a greater chance that I'll live to come back and go through this entire mess again, just as blindly as before. Besides, it's a bit easier to disable a metabolic pathway and denature the whole thing when you've still got some mobility."

"You—both of you—keep talking about this feeding," Marty pointed out. "But you haven't explained anything."

"Haven't I?" Again, there was surprise. "What have I been telling you, then? The Mylith are feeding off a certain type of energy, and, believe me, I'm practically swimming in it. Live and breathe it, really. And when they feed, they're taking it away from me. Draining me." A slight pause. "It _hurts_."

Marty was about to say something, but the Doctor continued, his pace increasing as he began expanding his explanation. "Necessary, though. That's another reason I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible. No sense in torture, is there? I've tried throwing shields up and taking others down, and when that didn't work, or at least didn't maintain itself, when that was being taken away from me, too…. Then, _then_ I knew what I was dealing with. Mylith. Not usually so troublesome, really. Though why you lot would have a colony hibernating here in 1969 is beyond me. Shouldn't think they'd have any reason to settle here. Bit unfortunate that I happened along again when they woke up; probably wouldn't have spread otherwise. Fuel for the fire, so to speak.

"But when I looked over the situation, I knew it wasn't just the Mylith. Couldn't be. I've dealt with them before, and they're not this troublesome, not under normal circumstances. Well, I say normal, but I really mean abnormal for you. Well…. No, no, I'd still say it's abnormal for you." The Doctor considered Marty for a moment, squinting at him, and then nodded. "Yes, must be. You don't look like you're carrying any Mylith traces, which is rather surprising, seeing as you've been around both of me now." The Doctor, distracted now, turned his gaze to the door. "We've got company, I think."

Sure enough, Inspector Large charged in. "Smith," he began sharply, "I know you think you can try pleading insanity, and you may have convinced some people on this charge, but you haven't convinced me. I—"

"That's just as well," the Doctor interrupted. "I wasn't trying to convince anyone I've lost my marbles. Haven't; I've a small collection in my pocket right now. Left over from Xiantydl, I believe; they've a game there that's similar to your Chinese checkers, and I found myself in a bit of a spot before I played my way out of it. Betting, mostly, but I figured I had fairly good odds, even if they were trying to tip them in their favour. Not the most honest folk in the universe, the Zatrildi."

"Are you quite finished?" Inspector Large asked, clearly not amused.

"For the moment, I think," the Doctor replied with a grin. "Unless you're going to keep going on about the fact that I'm a murderer, because then I might as well keep going, seeing as neither of us will be making much sense of what the other person's saying."

"I have officers who have placed you at the crime scene," Inspector Large informed him shortly. "One of which identified you from a previous interaction."

"Previous interaction?" the Doctor repeated. "Have I done that yet? Are you sure it was me? Was I with anyone? What was I doing?"

"You were also," the inspector carried on, pointedly ignoring the Doctor, "positively identified by a civi—"

"Ooh! It was Snowy, wasn't it? From the ticket office? In the theatre where that poor chap was murdered? We had a good chat, him and me." The Doctor smiled, looking reminiscent. "He could weave a tale, he could. Proper tale, not like what most folk tell these days. Of course, he thought the same about me, and I didn't tell him half of what I've told others. We'd only gotten on the conversation when he'd commented on how Martha was taking me out for the show as opposed to the other way around. Nice fellow. You may think it's all a bit unconventional, but times are changing, I'm telling you. Course, I could talk 'til I'm blue in the face and you'd still think I've lost it, but good ol' Snowy would lend a willing ear. Only reason I didn't hang around was because I knew someone else was on the case. Well, that, and I was a bit busy. Paradox prevention, you see. Keeping time cycling, history flowing along the right pathway, avoiding the eddies and smoothing out turning tides. That sort of thing."

"I am well aware why you were remembered, Smith," Inspector Large said dryly. "But we have evidence against you, and you'll need to provide us with a statement. I want facts, Smith. I don't need to listen to you prattle on all night like a blithering fool."

The Doctor made a face. "Oh, bit harsh, isn't that? Especially considering the developments to your case that I'm quite sure are taking place nearby right under your nose."

"I thought you didn't want anyone to notice anything!" Marty protested immediately.

The Doctor shrugged, acknowledging Inspector Large's grim look. "You don't have to believe me. But sometimes a bit of confusion will speed up the entire process. Seeing as you wouldn't take it very well if I just walked out myself, I mean."

"I don't have time for your games, Smith," the inspector growled.

"Oh, that's right; you'd be near the end of your shift, wouldn't you? Not that you'd leave right now; you've only got twenty-four hours to prove that I'm guilty. Which I'm not. And actually that twenty-four hours has dwindled to more about sixteen, hasn't it? Less, now, really, if you wanted to be a bit more accurate." The Doctor stretched his arms and then settled back down on his cot, leaning against the wall, hands behind his head. "Can't promise I'll stay here until you're finished with me, though. It'll depend on how things turn out, what it looks like I'll need to do. But don't worry; I'll come back. Promise."

"We've a man standing guard outside this cell," Inspector Large informed him coldly. "You will not be going anywhere."

"I'd rather like to hear you say that after you've poked your head outside," the Doctor replied mildly. "Take a break. Clear your head. Get some fresh air. It might clear some things up, actually, if you care to keep your eyes open and look."

Inspector Large didn't dignify the Doctor's 'advice' with an answer. "Think about what you want to say, Smith," he informed him. "I'll be back in the morning."

"It is the morning, actually," the Doctor pointed out. "But you'll be back before that if you'd just—"

"And not a minute earlier!" Inspector Large snapped, starting to lose his cool. He reined in his temper and glared at the Doctor. "Understand me?"

"Perfectly," the Doctor replied, completely serious. Marty was not surprised when the man's face broke out into a broad grin the minute Inspector Large left the room.

"What were you trying to do?" Marty asked, unable to fathom why the Doctor was trying to get Inspector Large to find his double.

"Me? Exactly what I said. A little bit of confusion will speed the process up. Not as quickly as if I slipped out myself, but I'd a feeling that he wouldn't take kindly to that. Still might, though. If I think it's necessary." The Doctor reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a little metal torch to show Marty. "Won't take but a minute or so with this. Well, bit longer, considering the guard's there, but I'd still make it." Seeing Marty's questioning look, he continued, "Sonic screwdriver. Works wonders on locked doors, at least in this day and age. Well, so long as it's not wood, but that's not. Tends to have some trouble with wood every now and then."

"Didn't they search you?" Marty asked. He shook his head, saying, "Yes, they did. I was there. You didn't have anything on you."

"I didn't have anything I wanted them to find," the Doctor corrected. "Well, may've let them have a few things the second time they searched me, since empty pockets can look suspicious. But, me, I've got deep pockets. Even I can lose things in there." When Marty couldn't come up with a reply, the Doctor added, "You'd best go check in on my other self. Agitation won't work too well if you spend too much time with either of us." He winced. "Well, it may be starting, but it isn't nearly strong enough, not yet."

"But…." Marty just looked at the Doctor for a moment. "Do I tell him? That you know? What do I say if he asks?"

"Nah, no need to say anything about that. Enough things have been jogging his memory lately, so he ought to have realized that I chose—will choose—to forget. Otherwise, he'd have come across his realizations a bit sooner. And once he recognizes that, he'll leave it. Terribly risky, remembering before you ought to. Best to let it be a natural process. Because if I chose to forget, as I obviously will, based on how he's been handling this, then something must have happened that would merit doing such a thing."

The Doctor sighed. "So if he asks, just say…. Say that you think it's working. The agitation, I mean. That's what he'd ask about if he asks anything. He wouldn't want to know too much about a past he's purposely forgotten for fear of revealing why he did that before it happens again. Of course, for me to know about it, something'll have to happen between now and then, whether I decide it's best for me to break out of here or whether someone tells me about it. Granted, if someone tells me about it, it could be after the fact, and I'd just realize that, by remembering, I'd be creating a potential paradox upon my return, and seeing as that's the very thing I'm trying to avoid, I'd have to bury that memory so deep that I'd…." The Doctor shook his head. "Someone may ask, but I don't think that I'll be the one asking."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This short chapter is dedicated to my faithful reviewer, Trainee Hero.

* * *

"Right, Donna, you keep back." The Doctor motioned towards the station with his hand. "Best stay out of plain sight, really. Won't cause as much trouble."

"Oi! You said I'd be safe," Donna pointed out. A thought struck her, and she voiced it before she realized the words were out of her mouth. "Or were you just saying that, like last time? To keep me quiet?" She tried very hard to keep the pain out of her voice, and she thought she'd managed it, but one could never tell with the Doctor.

The Doctor considered the question for a moment but didn't answer, instead saying, "By the wall, near those boxes. That should do the trick. And—" He winced. "Marty ought to be back in a moment. Good to know the interference is working, though what he's going on about with my other self, I can't really say, but it must be something, because…." The Doctor trailed off, which rather surprised Donna, seeing as he'd been going at a hundred miles an hour. The Doctor's mouth formed a small 'o', but as far as she could tell, no sound had escaped his lips. Surprising, considering he wasn't often at a loss for words.

"What now?" Jeff asked. He still sounded testy. A good night's sleep would curb some of that, Donna figured; shame he wouldn't be getting it tonight.

"Now," the Doctor replied, recovering instantly, "you can ready yourself, because I think things are going to be heating up in a few moments here. And— Marty, excellent!" The Doctor broke off his conversation with Jeff almost eagerly. "Agitation's working, I expect? Of course it is. I can tell. Shouldn't be long now."

Hearing one half—fine, two thirds—of a conversation was bloody annoying, Donna thought—particularly when you were the only one left out of it. Jeff had dived in instantly, demanding answers of this Marty. Well, she supposed he was—according to the two lunatics with her—still Jeff's partner. She figured if she could believe in aliens, she could probably believe in ghosts. The Doctor's proof hadn't exactly been the most _convincing _of things, but it would do. And she could take his word for it; goodness knew she'd done it before, what with all the nonsense he spewed out at her all day, jabbering on as he did. Never did make sense until it was too late to be of any use.

"Won't you notice?" Donna finally asked, well aware that she was interrupting the conversation and not caring one bit. "I mean, the other you. Wouldn't you notice Marty popping in and out and wonder? Especially when it starts to hurt?"

The Doctor blew out his cheeks. "I expect I did," he conceded. "But, me, I'm clever. Probably knew something was up."

"Wait." Donna stared at him, and in spite of the situation, she felt a grin spreading on her own face. "You don't know? You don't know what you thought? You don't remember?" The grin broke through. "Ha! The great Time Lord doesn't have a bloody clue what's—"

"Donna!" The Doctor's voice was sharp, and she abruptly realized that Jeff was staring at them. If Marty was about, he was probably staring, too. When the Doctor spoke again, his voice was quiet. And that almost unnerved her even more. Calm, informative. Too relaxed. Not _cold_, not _dangerous_, but suspiciously nonchalant. "No, Donna. I don't remember." There was a pause, and even she knew not to break in with something. Sure enough, the Doctor continued, saying, "I don't dare try. We're in enough of a mess as it is, really. Best to let things happen naturally. If I forgot, there was a reason for it. And I'll respect that. Knew what I was doing when I did it. I told you before, about remembering and forgetting. And this was one time I had to forget."

He'd blithered on about paradox prevention, she recalled. "But…." She wasn't sure if she could voice her questions. She wasn't sure if she should. "But if you knew, when we got here, if you thought about it, didn't it occur to you that…that this might…."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows at her. "That this sequence of events we've been going through might correlate specifically to a hole in my memory that I really cannot relate to any other time in my life and cannot, in all truth, exactly specify where that hole fits in, because, being a hole, I knew to bury it, and being me, I knew not to bury it chronologically? Seeing as that'd cause a bit of a bother, what with there being some reason I shouldn't remember and shouldn't know about this, which meant I'd just fitted the rest of the memories together so that it wouldn't seem that I was really missing anything and raise my suspicions? Suppose it did. But not right away. Not the wisest thing, pursuing those holes, not when you've a good reason for forgetting. And I expect I did." He turned from her to Jeff, adding, "And, no, it's not like repression, not really, so don't even bother asking."

Jeff closed his mouth for a moment. When he opened it again, he came out with something that Donna couldn't really fault him for. "What the hell are you playing at?" he demanded. "All right, I can take it so far. Lies and stories, fine. I don't want to tell a complete stranger the entire truth about my life, either. But you two take the cake. You and that brother of yours behind bars. You go on talking about alien traces and time travel and all other nonsense under the sun. You—" Jeff broke off, turning to his left. "Don't go on about it, Marty! He probably pieced it together from the beginning. He _planned _this. He lured us here." Turning back to the Doctor, he continued, "I might be in the middle of a trap, and fine, I'll have a time getting out of it, I'm sure, but you can at least tell it to me straight."

"Is the entire situation usually explained to you when you're caught somewhere?" the Doctor asked, sounding genuinely curious and more than faintly amused. "Because whoever has you doesn't think you'll escape?"

Jeff looked a bit taken aback. "Well…."

"Funny thing, that. Happens to me, too, on occasion. And I've nearly always come out of it." The Doctor grinned wildly, and Donna knew from the look on his face that Jeff wasn't going to get much of an answer to his questions. "Shame about your speculations; you're going off in entirely the wrong direction. Truth is what I've told you, but you humans, you just refuse to believe what's staring you in the face." The grin threatened to crack his face, and he wheeled on his heels, turning to look straight at her, ignoring the disbelief on Jeff's face. "_Any_way, I think things are happening a bit faster than I'd anticipated, which is almost to be expected, and I'd rather have everything sorted before whatever happens happens, so I—" He froze.

"Doctor!" Donna tried slapping him to bring him out of it, but it didn't work. "Oh, no, you don't, you have a lot more—"

And he reeled backwards, hand to his cheek. "That smarts, you know," he told her, hand returning to his side. He was making faces instead, stretching his skin and moving his jaw about. "Won't say it didn't help, though, with bringing me to my senses. But, blimey, you've an arm on you." He said it with something akin to admiration, yet she had a feeling he was mocking her, that there was something he wasn't saying. She could see it in that twinkle in his eyes. He was comparing her to someone from his past.

"If it helps, you can bloody well be sure that there'll be a repeat performance," Donna shot back at him.

He was shaking his head before she'd finished. "It…won't help. Well, not really. Some things only work once, you know. Well. _Work_ is such a strong word. I was actually having a bit of a time protecting my mental defences so that my knowledge can't be used for further destruction, not to mention the…. Well, _sparring_'s not the right word, but I was concentrating on keeping the Mylith away from the more sensitive parts of my mind. I've things in there _I_ don't even know about, so I'm not about to let them in, especially not when they just want to feed on—"

"I get it, Doctor," Donna cut in. "No slapping. Just don't consider that a guarantee that I won't try it, because the way you're going on, you might just be getting another one."

The Doctor seemed to acknowledge this. At least, that's what she took the slight incline of the head to mean. That, or his neck was stiff from before. It was a bit hard to tell. "_Any_way," he barrelled on, "as I was saying, I think it's best we prepare for anything. Marty, back to my other self. Keep going between us. Shouldn't be long now. Donna, by the wall, out of sight. I'm not sure what's going to happen, and I'm not going to take my chances. Jeff, you're in no danger if anyone sees you, so you can stay where you are.

"Well," he amended, "I say no danger; I mean no danger in terms of temporal disturbances and shockwaves along historical timelines. You could very well be in danger if a Zalvja-influenced Gilbert Becker proves stronger than you. Or even just an equal match. Or perhaps if our good friend Inspector Large comes and sees you, since I do still recall him, and he is quite a suspicious bloke. I expect he'd like to know what you're doing, and chances are he'd be questioning you about me, seeing as he'd think I'd escaped, and once he had me down—if he could get me down, though I suppose I could let him for the sake of getting closer to my other self and inducing the feeding frenzy—then he'd like to know what you're doing with his prisoner. And, indeed, on the streets of London at this hour. I don't expect you'd be able to come up with a very good explanation, since if you think I'm crazy, as you so clearly do, then you'd have a devil of a time coming up with a better lie as an explanation on such short notice."

Jeff scowled, but it looked to Donna that the thought had already occurred to him. "I'm not staying out here all night," he informed the Doctor simply. "You said this was happening now, and, fool that I was, I believed you. I'd still like proof beyond your acting and ludicrous explanations, though I expect I'm not likely to get it."

Jeff may have had more to say, but the Doctor started in as soon as he had a chance. "I am sorry for this. I really am. I don't _like_ dragging everyone into the middle of things like this. It just happens. Take Donna; drawn into the TARDIS on her wedding day, convinced I was trying to abduct her, and—" The Doctor broke off hastily. "Well, that's not important. Point is, you found yourself caught in the middle of it, but by the time you realized that, you were too tangled up to free yourself. And you've become important now; a part of events. I need you. Don't fancy trying to work it all out without your help, not now. Denying's all well and good, at least in the right situation, at least for a certain time, but it's not going to change the facts."

"And the fact is that Marty and I have to help you destroy alien traces?" Jeff's voice was heavy with scepticism.

Donna waited, but the Doctor didn't reply. It didn't entirely surprise her to find that he'd frozen again; he'd have never let that much silence pass by unless he was concentrating on something specifically, not when he was asked a question and seemed to be in the middle of explaining his answer, anyway. After a few moments of silence—well, not really silence, seeing as Jeff was muttering away, which meant that Marty had come back again—Donna figured that this was probably the peak of the feeding frenzy the Doctor had kept going on about. Recalling his instructions, she turned on the timey-wimey detector.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting to happen, but as far as she could tell, it hadn't worked. "Bit pointless," she grumbled. So a thingamajig on the side whirled. Big deal. And it made a dinging noise every once in a while. All that did was tell her that it was on. And that there was 'stuff,' she supposed. Whatever that stuff was. The machine itself was relatively quiet otherwise; she couldn't pick up on any electronic hum. Frequency, though, the Doctor had said. It could be a frequency she couldn't hear. Though, she did think she could catch something every once in a while. Maybe he had it emitting two frequencies? Was that possible?

A rasping gasp brought her back to reality. The Doctor had snapped out of it. Not the peak of the feeding, then. Well, then he'd bloody well better tell her what to look for, because she didn't have a clue. "You finished?" she asked as the Doctor drew in another gagging breath, looking for all the world like he was hyperventilating.

He recovered instantly, and she had a sneaking suspicion he'd been faking it. Granted, he was paler than before; not all of the colour had returned to his face this time. That was a bit worrisome. At least, she was fairly sure it wasn't normal—hadn't she been around him long enough to figure that out yet?—and, chances were, even he needed blood pumping to his brain. He didn't have two hearts for nothing.

"I…think so."

That was new.

He was distracted.

Okay, so _that_ wasn't new. But the type of distraction was. Sure, it was easy to get him off on a tangent, considering his short attention span, but she always had a feeling that he controlled that. That he knew every word that left his mouth, and that by the time that had happened, he knew his next move, the next thing the person or whatever he was talking to was going to say, and he'd planned his response for that, too. Because he did plan. She knew he did. His mind was always working; he had to be planning, even if it was just unconsciously. Yeah, he improvised—all the time, as far as she could tell. But by the time he'd made a move, he had an idea, even if it was vague, of what he was going to do next. Or he'd take into account what could happen and plan accordingly. Oh, she knew there were tons of possibilities, but she'd also seen the Doctor make snap decisions, and she knew there was no denying his brilliance.

But now?

Something was off.

What had the Doctor said earlier? About the mind latching on to normalcy as a life preserver or something? Maybe that was just what she'd taken away from it, but it didn't mean she could apply the principle. Shelf the outward concern, then. Tried and true tactics. Something that would cut through.

But before she could open her mouth to snap out a retort, the Doctor weaved on the spot. That was alarming. He stumbled forward, almost falling into her, but he backpedalled quickly. One hand clutched his head and the other reached out towards the wall to steady himself. Now he really did look ill.

"What's the matter with him?" Jeff hissed to her.

She tore her gaze from the Doctor and stared at him instead. One deep breath, just enough to muster her reply. "How the bloody hell should I know?" she snapped at him. "This ain't exactly normal for us, either! And you're not helping, are you? You probably think he's having fits or something. What's it going to take for you to believe that he's in two places at once and that something's taking advantage of that? A blooming brass band marching down the alley, announcing it to you?"

"Donna," the Doctor said, voice sounding almost weak, "d'you remember what I told you when we were under Vesuvius? About how I see the universe?"

Of course she did. What is, what was, what could be, what must not. _That_ had scared her, if she was perfectly honest with herself. She'd made a mental note _not_ to broach the subject any time soon. "Yeah?" A guarded answer; she ought to be safe with that. "What about it?"

"I can't ignore it. I know what I'm doing, what I've done, and I remember…. Donna, I remember, and it's—" The Doctor broke off, crying out in pain.

Jeff caught the Doctor before he staggered into the very boxes behind which he'd told Donna to hide. "Vesuvius?" Jeff mouthed, giving Donna a strange look.

She shrugged, not paying Jeff much mind. "What is it, Doctor?"

"Donna, you have to…. You've…you need to…."

"What? Do I need to get you something? What do you need? Water? Aspirin? A chair?" The Doctor was shaking his head, trying to spit the words out. He looked really pathetic sagging against Jeff like that, and she had to hope that part of it _was_ an act, like the so-called private investigator seemed convinced it was. "Oh, I dunno," she said, clutching at straws. "How about a nice cup of tea? Maybe a blanket? Have you gotten chilled or something? Do these things attack the immune system like that?"

For a moment, the Doctor looked at her in disbelief, and then he shook his head. "Turn it off," he told her, sounding desperate. "If you leave it on, it'll mean that…that…. But then…. No, no, you've got to turn it off! Donna, turn it off!"

Oh. Right. The timey-wimey detector. Donna studied the machine for a moment, shrugged, and flipped the switch and pressed the button in reverse order. That seemed to do the trick, and the machine powered down. "There," she said, satisfied, looking back up. "Now do you want to tell me _why_ that was so important?"

But the Doctor had already frozen again.


	10. Chapter 10

Martha was second-guessing the wisdom of her actions. She had a vague idea of where she was, yes. She also had a fair guess as to where her feet were leading her. As much as she wanted to trust the Doctor, she wasn't exactly sure that she could take his word for it when he just left her like that. She figured he'd lie to protect her in a heartbeat. And not just lie to someone else—he did that all the time, really—but actually lie to her. And she could accept that. That's the way he was. But she could only take so much.

He had the timey-wimey detector. Finished by now, she hoped. And the way he'd acted, he must have needed it for something besides tracking down Billy. But if that were the case, then chances were he'd gone after whatever it was to take care of it, even after promising to go back to his cell before they figured out he was missing. She wasn't sure what she would do if she turned up and demanded to see him only to find out that he _was_ missing. She didn't want to think about that quite yet. But she was going to make sure he was there, and if he wasn't, well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

If she was lucky, the Doctor wouldn't even be charged with tampering with evidence. They could wait this out and it would be over with. Easy.

But it was never easy, no matter how simple the Doctor tried to make it seem. Things got complicated around him, one thing going wrong followed quickly by another. He was a veritable magnet for trouble. And he loved muddling his way through it, whatever the universe had to throw at him. She could see it. He thought it was brilliant. It didn't matter that the new creature he'd discovered on some remote planet was intent on _killing_ him, because it was new, and that was brilliant.

Oh, she'd loved it, too. Maybe not _every_ minute, but she loved the running, the adrenaline rush, the new discoveries. But she was nearly always with the Doctor. She wasn't now, and she knew it was partially her choice. But she'd thought that because it was Earth, she'd be fine. She wasn't going to end up insulting the inhabitants of some weird planet out in some forgotten corner of the next galaxy over. And it was London. No harm, right?

She'd been with the Doctor long enough to pick up a mild case of paranoia, Tish would say. Leo'd agree; she just needed to step back, re-examine the situation, think things through. And she'd be perfectly willing to do that. Ordinarily. But running with the Doctor had taught her a few other skills, and now one of her senses was telling her that she was being followed.

Okay. No stores open to dodge into, but she should still be able to lose him. Or her. It had better not be an _it_, not on Earth, not without the Doctor around. Martha picked up her pace a bit. There was always a chance that she was imagining it. She couldn't _see_ anything when she snuck a look over her shoulder every now and then. Even ducking around a corner, peeking around to see what she could, didn't help; the coast looked clear.

But she still had a feeling, and since she'd begun travelling with the Doctor, she'd learned to trust those feelings.

"Get a grip, Martha," she told herself. "It's fine. You're just over-thinking things. Take a deep breath and assess the situation." It was insane; she wasn't usually like this. Why she was extra-jumpy now, she couldn't say, but it had to be something if it had her talking to herself like the Doctor so often did. At least she hadn't moved on to objects. Yet.

She would be fine, of course. She knew she couldn't be _that_ far from the police station where the Doctor was being held. And no one who was following her now would follow her in there. Not if they were in their right mind. Granted, if they were following her for the reasons she thought they might be following her, they probably weren't in their right mind in the first place. And why she could suddenly hear the Doctor's voice lecturing her on grammar, she wasn't sure. She couldn't remember him ever doing that before. Well, when she had tried—and miserably failed—to blend in when they'd met Shakespeare, but….

Now she _was_ starting to sound like the Doctor, off on whatever tangent crossed her mind. Scary thought, that. Best to stick to the basics. And with the Doctor, one of the primary basics was running. Usually to preserve life—her own. And while it may not be the best tactic to employ in the current situation, it was the only option her mind kept providing her with. With which her mind kept providing her. Or something. Drat that infernal, internal lecturing.

Leaving scattered thoughts behind, Martha took off at a run.

* * *

Donna wasn't a fan of leaving the Doctor like that, rigid and pale and, frankly, freezing cold. It was a wonder she didn't get frostbite just from being near him. Jeff had helped her drag him closer to the wall, not commenting on the weird temperature difference, something she suspected the Doctor would try to explain away one way or another. For all she knew, he'd be going on about slowing down his metabolism or something or other and relate _that_ to his condition in some way that really didn't make any sense at all if she cared to spend any time thinking about it.

Still, things could be worse. Heck, if it wasn't for the grim expression on Jeff's face, she might've guessed that he was finally starting to believe them. She'd had to put the timey-wimey detector down, and now she saw him looking at it. Funny how neither of them paid any attention to the Doctor now that he wasn't talking, but, really, hide her foot. She had more important things to do. Like sorting this mess out, since _someone_ was being decidedly unhelpful.

If there was any way to blame him for this, she'd have it figured out by the end of the night.

"This looks like he built this thing by pillaging a scrapyard," Jeff commented, poking at the timey-wimey detector. "Are you even sure it works?"

"No," Donna admitted, "but it has to do something, doesn't it, if the Doctor told me to turn it off."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "The words of a madman—"

"I think 'raving lunatic' may be the words you're searching for, actually," someone corrected.

Jeff was already gaping at something over her shoulder. When she turned, she saw why. Her mouth didn't drop to her feet, exactly—she caught it before it got there—but she couldn't stop it from opening in surprise. Even after everything that had happened, she wasn't really prepared for it. Any of it. At all.

"Donna!" The Doctor beamed at her. "And here I thought you were travelling."

"But…but…." Donna stared at him, and then at her Doctor, who remained frozen in place. "But…. But you…. You're not…."

The Doctor didn't seem to notice, barrelling on full speed ahead, jabbering at her. "Blimey, I wouldn't really have thought I'd see you again. Chances must be a million to one. Well, more than. More like, oh, a million, billion, trillion…gazillion…or thereabouts…to one. All things considered, I mean. It's not often I run into the same person twice. It's only happened a few times, really. Not often. Well, not often for my friends. My enemies do tend to show up a tad more often than you'd think. Of course, they do seem intent on killing me, or at the very least imprisoning me, so I suppose that may be why. Half the time they're looking for me. Other half they're trying to trap me. Not so with my friends. Sarah Jane most recently, actually. Recognized her the moment I saw her. Hardly could believe it. Not that she recognized me. Had to drop a few hints. And, well, run into her, actually. And—"

"Yeah, not asking for your life story," Donna interrupted at last. She'd let him go on for a bit longer, hoping he might hit on some relevant information, but she'd been right before. Interrupting worked, and it was the only way to keep the Doctor on track, as far as she was concerned. "So how come you're mobile and he's not?"

"Wha—?" The Doctor stopped and glanced at his future self. "Oh. Right. Directional metabolic inducement. And a bit of the telepathic sparring; that doesn't hurt. I will admit I didn't know it would have _quite_ that effect, but then again, first time I've combined an energy manipulator with a timey-wimey detector. Granted, it's the first time I've had to build a timey-wimey detector with such limited parts. And the first time the Mylith have been feeding off me. And the first time for—" He caught Donna's glare and, wisely, cut his dithering short.

"There's a first time for everything," the Doctor said. "And, well, I don't expect it would've turned out quite that way if the timey-wimey detector hadn't been activated. Still. I'll recover. Shouldn't be long, from the looks of it, though once he snaps out of it, we'll both be caught, likely as not. Mostly the sparring, that. Well, not sparring. Guarding, perhaps? No. Maybe shielding? Bit closer to the mark, I'd say, but not when you consid—" He cut off abruptly. For a moment, Donna thought he'd frozen, too, but he slowly turned on the spot, peering past the lights into the darkness. "Donna," he said in an odd, tight little voice. "Get back behind those boxes."

"If you think—"

"You can keep talking, really, if you like," the Doctor told her, still distracted. "Just…keep out of sight."

Donna was about to protest, and then she saw the Doctor pull the sonic screwdriver from his pocket. Now, she wasn't an expert, but she did _try_ to listen to the Doctor. He did, after all, hit on _some _relevant information eventually, and if she didn't listen to all his garbled nonsense, she'd miss it. So she had to listen to him.

But right now, she was fairly sure he was contradicting himself. If not, then she really did need to check her understanding of his gobbledegook. Admittedly, that wouldn't be surprising, but she did have to try to figure things out. He thought her to be brilliant, and she didn't want him to be completely wrong. So she had to ask; no way around it. "Wait, how can you have one of those? Or did you just take his?"

The Doctor looked at the sonic screwdriver in his hand. "No, no. This is mine." He brought it up to his face, squinted at it, tampered with the settings for a minute, clicked it, nodded, and turned his attention back to Donna. "Yup, definitely mine."

"Then what was that whole lecture about the same object not being in the same place?"

The Doctor stared at her. Blinked once. Opened his mouth. Closed it. "You've a point there," he conceded at length. "Must mean he's tampered with it a bit. Maybe it's that hairdryer thing; it goes a bit…off around hairdryers. Doesn't always work; cuts in and out. Haven't figured out why yet." He paused, tongue curled around his teeth. "Perhaps I've finally gotten around to fixing it. Haven't had time lately. Well, lately being relative." He snapped his attention back to the problem at hand. "Right, then. On to business. Donna, out of sight."

"And me?" Jeff asked wryly, in the tone of one not completely convinced about something.

The Doctor looked at him for a moment, as if noticing for the first time that he was there, even though he'd corrected him earlier. "Randall, wasn't it? Jeff?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Yes, must be. The mind reader. Well, not really. Pretend mind reader. Marty's friend. And…Jeannie's, too? I mean, Jeannie Hopkirk, Marty Hopkirk. You're a common variable. Randall and Hopkirk. Either one. Both."

The Doctor was now sporting a loopy grin. "Brilliant, that. You solved that poor chap's murder, then? It was that man, the…." The Doctor frowned, then brightened. "Choreographer, I believe Snowy said. The choreographer. Whatever his name was. Looked guilty the entire time. Said that before the show started, really. When I was talking to Snowy. That man looks troubled, I'd said. But Snowy'd shrugged it off. None of his business. Well, not then, not yet. But you could tell it wasn't Abel. Man didn't know what had happened. Reason I don't like guns, really. One shot. That's it. Just…one…." And the Doctor stopped.

At first Donna thought the Doctor was remembering what had happened to Jenny, but then she realized he hadn't been through that yet. But he'd been against guns then, too. And long before that, no doubt, seeing how he had acted when they'd been at UNIT headquarters. So he must have had some pretty unpleasant experiences regarding them. And, knowing how the Doctor lived his life, that was probably putting it mildly.

"You should be safe enough," the Doctor assured Jeff. "You're not out of your time. Nothing more dangerous than an average day for you, I should think. Well. One of _your _average days. Not one of mine. _Your_ average days may not be the most normal, but mine, well…." The Doctor trailed off. "Let's just say this isn't quite normal for me, either. It's involved a lot less running so far. Well, for me. Not sure about the other me. Bit hard to say, that." He started to look beyond them again. "Shouldn't be long now. I can feel it coming."

"So you can feel it now?" Donna asked, sounding about as sceptical as Jeff.

"Always could," the Doctor replied. "Just…wasn't sure what it meant. Not for certain. Still. I've a fairly good idea now."

"Yeah, well, you could've told us. You didn't get around to much of anything. Kept freezing at important points."

"It wasn't my fault. Well, it won't be my fault. I suppose it was partially _my_ fault, being here, but he's the one who came back. Even though he had to. Suppose he didn't know it, though, so I wouldn't say you could go blaming him."

"You've lost it, both of you," Jeff declared. "I really don't thi—"

"I can hear you, you know," the Doctor said. "And I mean him, not me. Well, me, too, when I'm in that state. Just because I'm concentrating, doesn't mean I'm not paying attention." He stopped for a moment. "But you really don't have that long of a wait, so you might as well stick it out. Donna, mind hiding me? The other me, I mean. I've a feeling…. It'll avoid awkward questions. And—" The Doctor broke off, looking to one side. "Yes, I know I said it would hasten the process if we created confusion, but that was before I went and tampered about with the sonic screwdriver while the timey-wimey detector was on." Another pause. Donna could see Jeff roll his eyes in the meantime. "I wasn't to know! She shouldn't have activated it until peak feeding."

"Oi!" Now they were talking about her, no doubt about it. "You—he—I was never given any instructions!"

"I'm not blaming you," the Doctor said hurriedly. "I was just trying to get a reading on the sonic screwdriver when I felt it coming on, but I pressed on regardless, trying to combat it, so with the interaction of the intervening wavelengths and the…." He stopped, shaking his head. "But, more pressing matters at hand. Move him, won't you?" He jabbed his thumb at his future self.

"Why not do it yourself?" Jeff challenged, thoroughly fed up with the situation and, Donna figured, more than a little confused. He could compare the two Doctors himself now, and she didn't need to hear Marty to guess that he'd be pointing out all the similarities.

"Because I can't!" the Doctor shot back. "Time's unstable enough as it is, and dealing with paradoxes, potential or otherwise, is _never_ easy. I've been getting enough of a headache preventing one as it is; I don't need to invite one in."

He sighed, seeing the looks on their faces. "I'll spell it out for you then, shall I? In about four minutes and twenty-eight seconds, the Zalvja are going to descend on us, and if they haven't tracked down an anomaly by then, they'll try to take me. Look at me; can't get any more out of the ordinary, can you? But if they _have_ brought an anomaly with them, or herded it here, then I don't need to be answering questions. If Jeff Randall doesn't believe me when he's got Marty as a partner, it won't be easy to explain. And I will have to explain it, because I am going to be here for a while.

"Donna, you and I—him, your Doctor, future me—can go off when this is over, but I've got to stay here with Martha. Time's not through the loop yet. And it has to finish its loop undisturbed, or I won't be meeting Donna again in the first place. And this is one of the memories I have to forget, right here, right now, this entire conversation, because I cannot remember that I am going to meet Donna again."

He lost his seriousness for a moment, winking at her. "Don't want to spoil the surprise, do I?" But then his voice grew sombre again. "We're treading on dangerous ground. Don't misunderstand me; it's excellent, it's brilliant, nothing else can parallel that feeling. But in this case, with this ground…. It's also terribly wrong. If one single fractured possibility…." He shook his head. "If things get out of control, specifically out of my control, or at least out of my potential control, then you'll be facing nightmares. And if I'm…_preoccupied_, I won't be able to chase them away."

Seeing Jeff open his mouth, he added, "And if I so much as touch my other self, we're going to be dealing with nightmares. That's what I mean when I say time's unstable. Things will slip through the cracks. And they _aren't_ pretty." He waited a moment for his words to sink in. "Well, then? We've work to do. Do kindly move him, will you? Out of sight, but…don't enclose me, all right? I'm not sure if I'm going to freeze up just as he is or if he'll snap out of it once I enter that state, and frankly I'd rather not come to and find myself buried."

Jeff looked at Donna and shrugged. "Might as well humour him, if he's wasted all his breath on that."

Donna didn't move. "There's something you're not telling me."

The Doctor sighed. "No, there's not."

"There is," she protested. "This isn't my first trip with you, Doctor. I've gotten to know you. And you're not telling me something. I think you know that I can tell now. Well, most of the time. You don't always look at me when you're talking, or you try to distract me. And I wouldn't ask, privacy and all that, but this seems a little bit pressing, don't you think?"

"It's not important." The Doctor turned on his sonic screwdriver and held it out in front of him, slowly moving in a circle, seemingly listening to a difference in the sound it emitted.

"Then _tell me_."

The Doctor looked at Jeff, who was grudgingly moving his other self out of sight, and turned his gaze back to Donna. "You have to hide."

"Doctor!"

"Now, Donna."

"Just tell me! What's worrying you?"

"Stop it."

"Doctor—"

"Just stop it."

"_Doctor_!"

He wheeled on his heels to face her, eyes ablaze. Even though Donna knew the anger was targeted at the situation itself more than at her, she couldn't help but flinch back. "Martha can't meet you, Donna, and I'm not going to make her forget."

"What?" Donna was taken aback for a moment. "What's Martha got to do with this?"

The Doctor sighed, the anger draining away as he looked back out into the night. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, she's been targeted as the anomaly. Which means that she'll be coming here."

Donna felt a pit form in her stomach. "But if she's been targeted…."

The Doctor nodded, still not looking at her. "Then she's marked for death, unless we can stop it. She won't be able to outrun it."

* * *

A/N: All right, so that was probably predictable, but I haven't had any complaints so far. And after re-watching _The Sontaran Stratagem _and _The Poison Sky_, I had to poke fun at the Doctor's quirky side with his tendency to correct grammar.


	11. Chapter 11

Jeff struggled with the body of the frozen Doctor, not allowing himself to think about the situation at the moment. He'd take it one step at a time. Things were strange enough as they were; _accepting_ anything the Doctor—or his double—said as truth was taking it a bit further than Jeff had planned. There was still the occasional time that he jumped when _Marty_ appeared; he couldn't be expected to accept something like this without blinking an eye.

The Doctor's double was still talking with Donna. He couldn't really hear their conversation. Well, he couldn't hear the double's half. Donna, even though she _had_ toned it down a bit, could still be heard clearly. "But you've got something in mind, don't you? For when she comes?"

"It's all a bit fishy to me," he muttered, settling the Doctor as gently as he could against the wall. He wasn't sure that he should have moved the man in the first place—were you supposed to even touch catatonics?—but the damage was done now, and he knew he was still handling a living person, however statue-like that particular person happened to be at the moment. On the upside, it hadn't thrown the Doctor into a fit; that had to be a good sign.

"But you've seen them both now," Marty pointed out. "Can't you see what Jeannie and I did? They're too similar."

"Marty," Jeff began, exasperated, "how many times do we have to go through this?" He shook his head. "How did he even get out, anyway?" He jerked his head towards the man speaking with Donna.

"I didn't catch all of it," Marty reminded him. "And he didn't even notice me when I went, not at first. He was fiddling with that gadget of his, the sonic screwdriver, muttering away to himself, working like there was no tomorrow. I think he gave himself a bit of a shock or something at one point, because he let out a yelp and barely got away from the door before it opened. Carlson wanted to know what was going on. The Doctor was staring at his sonic screwdriver, and then he looked up at Carlson and gave that insane grin of his. He said he didn't know, not for sure, and that he fancied checking it out."

"And what'd he do, deck Carlson?" Jeff snorted, thinking of the burly policeman. No chance he'd be overpowered by someone with the Doctor's build.

Marty glanced over to where the Doctor's double was talking with Donna. Or had been; Donna was heading back now. For the first time since she'd found the Doctor, she looked worried. Jeff didn't take that as a particularly good sign. Donna collected the timey-wimey detector, moved over to the stiffened Doctor, and crouched behind the boxes at his feet. Whatever the other man had said to her, she'd finally agreed to listen to him. That, as far as Jeff was concerned, was a feat in itself.

"He just touched him," Marty finally answered. He tapped the side of his head. "Right here, on his temples. One hand on either side. And Carlson just dropped."

Jeff shot an alarmed glance at the other man, who was now facing steadily into the darkness. "And no one else heard anything? Saw it? I find that hard to believe."

"I don't know what happened after that," Marty said, almost apologetically. "He could have dragged him into the cell and closed the door for all I know. I came back out here to check up on everyone."

"Naturally." Jeff grimaced. Situations had a habit of turning from bad to worse on him. That's how situations went, he supposed. He was certainly getting used to it.

He went to stand by the Doctor's double. "So?" he asked, giving the man a measuring glance. "What are we up against?"

"Sh." The Doctor—perhaps it _was_ just easier to think of him like that, at least for now—held up a hand. "Sixteen, fifteen…." He cocked his head slightly, listening. "Twelve, eleven…. Oh, I think he would've gone over that with you, at least. All set? Brilliant." A quick grin was flashed in his direction. "Allons-y!" The Doctor started off confidently towards the alleyway.

"Doctor!"

Jeff's gaze shifted at the sound of a woman's voice. Stumbling into view was a tiring, terrified coloured woman. She seemed to draw strength from the sight of the Doctor and raced towards him. Nothing too worrisome about that, but Jeff knew enough not to discard it.

"That's Martha," Marty explained, appearing beside him. "You don't remember her, do you?"

Jeff shook his head. "Remember her from where?"

"She was at the show," Marty said, as if that explained everything. "But they weren't anything special then." He frowned at her for a moment. "Is everything quite right there, do you think?"

Jeff looked back at the pair. Everything looked normal enough to him. The girl had a ring on her finger—he could see that from here—so it was perhaps it was inappropriate for her to be throwing herself at the Doctor like that. Then again, if the Doctor was to be believed, this Martha travelled with him, just as Donna now did. Even if she had since moved on, if he believed for a moment that the whole time travel story wasn't a complete yarn, familiarity couldn't be faulted. And if not? It wasn't his really his place to judge, anyway.

"What looks off?" Jeff finally asked.

"It just…. Something's wrong." Marty looked puzzled. "I don't really know, Jeff. I've just got a feeling."

"You and your feelings," Jeff muttered, not bothering to hide a smirk.

Ten seconds later, there was no hint of a smirk on his face.

"Get down!" a voice yelled. The Doctor. Jeff ducked as something sailed overhead. So did Marty, he noticed. Some habits are hard to break. Wheeling around, Jeff got a look at his would-be attacker.

Gilbert Becker.

Marty was right, Jeff could tell. He didn't have a lot of time to take it in before he launched himself at the man, countering a second, this time physical, attack on Martha. He was strong, Jeff noted, trying to wrestle the man to the ground and having a fair bit of trouble doing it. But that wasn't all. The man looked murderous one minute and scared half to death the next. He didn't move right, either. Something was off about that. But it didn't stop him from being fast.

Jeff cursed himself for not keeping his mind on things as a fist sunk into his stomach. Stunned and out of breath, he loosed his grip on Becker, and the man moved towards Martha. The Doctor stepped out to stop him, opening his mouth—but then he staggered backwards, clutching his head. He stumbled, face screwed up in pain, and he froze.

Martha looked like she was trying to hold her own, Jeff figured as he started after Becker again. But she was distracted by her concern for the Doctor, and no amount of kicking and struggling was helping her to get free. "Marty," Jeff started, "see if you can trip him up. If he's covered with these traces, maybe he'll be sensitive to you. And I need him distracted."

Marty looked lost for a moment, but Jeff knew he'd be looking around, assessing the situation, figuring out his best plan of action. When the stacks of boxes began blowing towards them, caught on the ghostly wind, Jeff jumped Becker again. He knew the man couldn't be in his right mind, but surely if he was knocked unconscious, the situation would improve.

It certainly couldn't get any worse.

"I've got it on now, Doctor," came Donna's voice. Then she must have noticed that he was frozen or that Martha was staring at something over her shoulder, because the next words out of her mouth were, "Oh, for—"

Jeff was knocked back again, but he recovered his footing and lunged at Becker's legs. Martha was pulled down with them—he could hear her shocked screech—but he was more focused on other matters on hand. He managed to hold Becker back, but Martha didn't struggle free as he'd expected. A quick glance told him why; she'd hit her head, judging from the welt on her temple, and was out cold.

"Donna!" he called, trying to figure out if he could roll Becker away from Martha without the man getting loose. Blimey, but he was strong. "Little help here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your horses," Donna mumbled. She caught sight of Martha. "Oh."

"Move her, will you?" Jeff gasped out. Becker had wrenched a hand free and was trying to twist around out of his grip.

Donna obediently pulled Martha away from the fight. "Lucky she didn't break any bones. Don't expect the Doctor'd fancy taking her to the hospital, what with her not having any records."

"Donna, more pressing matters at hand!" Jeff had Becker pinned down now, one knee across his back, and Marty was encouraging him, but it was still a struggle.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Donna asked. She still had that defensive tone in her voice.

"What did the Doctor tell you to do?" Jeff snapped back.

"Turn on the timey-wimey detector at peak feeding," she retorted. "And I did."

"And did he tell you what it was supposed to _do_?"

"He told both of us," Donna replied shortly. "The frequency'll kill them."

"But how long is that going to _take_?"

"How should _I_ know?"

"Well, if you travel with him, then you ought to have some idea of what to do!"

Donna looked hesitant for a moment, which was a switch; he'd expected her to snap another smart remark at him. "I suppose…. He always uses his sonic screwdriver, and it doesn't solve the problem, but it always helps."

"Then use it," Jeff ordered. He was beginning to tire, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Gilbert Becker was not. But what had him wondering was why no one had noticed what was going on. The fight hadn't exactly been _quiet_, not at first.

"I don't know _how_." Donna's glare had returned; funny that it hadn't surfaced earlier. "He's got different settings on the thing, and I can't tell one from the other."

"You could fiddle with it, couldn't you?" Marty asked. Jeff repeated his question.

"Sure, but there's no telling what it'd be doing then," Donna warned him. "I could black out the city for all I know."

"Have a go, anyway," Jeff said. He didn't really believe that some gadget could do that, but he'd be willing to risk it, he supposed. Actually, he didn't think that the Doctor's sonic screwdriver would be any help at all, if he was honest with himself, but if Donna thought it might do something, he had no choice but to trust her. And hope.

Donna started moving, but she hadn't taken five steps before she stopped and looked back at him. "Which one?"

"Does it _matter_?" Jeff sighed. It turned into a grunt as Becker tried to break out of the hold Jeff had on him, and he put more pressure on the man's back, having already wrenched the man's right arm up at a ninety degree angle to give himself more control. If he had to exert any more pain, he could start pulling the thumb in the opposite direction. Very effective; he knew _that_ from experience. "Might as well go for the second one. He had it out, and if the setting matters that much, we might luck in and it'll be on the right one."

"You've a point. His might be on top, and if I rummage too much, I'm liable to come up with a rotting banana." Donna made a face before walking over to the second Doctor.

"What?" Jeff stared after her.

"He says he has deep pockets," Marty offered. "At least, that's what he told me."

As it turned out, Donna found the screwdriver with minimal trouble. "D'you think I just turn it on?"

"I don't care," Jeff snapped back at her, "so long as you do something!"

He could see her shrug nonchalantly—did she really expect him to believe that she did this every day?—before pressing a side button on the sonic screwdriver and holding it out in front of her. The blue tip lit up and he could hear it buzzing away, but nothing happened. Donna seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because she studied the device with a frown on her face. "Maybe it _is_ on the wrong setting."

The timey-wimey detector dinged.

Donna looked at Jeff. "Reckon that should be on?"

"She's got a point, Jeff," Marty said. "It interfered with something last time."

Jeff did his best not to glower at his partner. "'Peak feeding' may have passed," he agreed warily.

Donna beamed at him. That was a switch. Definitely suited her better than the glare, though. Still grinning, she switched off the timey-wimey detector, waited a moment, and turned the sonic screwdriver on again.

_Something_ collapsed around them. As the night noise flooded back in, Jeff wondered how he'd missed it before. Donna had staggered back, just as shocked as he was. Marty didn't seem as unsettled. Startled, yes, but he hadn't almost lost his footing. He popped over to check on the first Doctor.

"No sign of movement," reported Marty, coming back over to Jeff.

"Donna?" Jeff asked. "Is the Doctor moving?"

She looked to the one closest to her—the second Doctor. "Not a muscle." The grin had faltered long before, and now worry took its place. "Think I did something wrong?"

"You burst something," Jeff replied. He had about as good an idea as she did whether or not that would be detrimental to their current situation.

"What about him?" Donna asked. She was looking at Becker.

"Stopped struggling after the blast," Jeff answered. Even so, he hadn't released his hold; better safe than sorry.

"Is Marty still here?"

Jeff frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"What's he think about this?"

Jeff raised his eyebrows and turned to look at his friend. "Well?" he prompted when Marty wasn't forthcoming.

"I…." Marty stopped. "I think they're gone, Jeff." He didn't say anything for a while, but Jeff had a feeling that there was more to come, so he waited. "The Doctor said these traces were on me, that I'd caught this virus of his, and that it wasn't fully affecting me because the traces were corrupted. But now that it's gone, I think I can tell that it was there."

"He'd said that you weren't an ideal host," Jeff recalled. He could see Donna open her mouth, and he held up a hand to stave her off. She'd get her answer soon enough.

"I think he meant that I could fight them off," Marty explained cautiously. "I wasn't aware of it, but if they could overtake someone in six hours—"

"After peak exposure, if I understood correctly." Marty had filled him in on a few details before Jeff had decided that it was necessary to demand a more thorough explanation.

"Yes, but if that's the case, then they're pervasive, but somehow…somehow I managed to keep them out anyhow. At least for the most part."

"Your belief protected you," Jeff repeated, remembering the Doctor's words.

"What did he mean by that?" Marty asked, recalling the strange phrase. "That didn't make any sense."

Jeff waved it off. "No matter. But you think they're gone, then? Because you can feel their absence?"

Marty nodded. "That's right."

"Well, good," Donna declared, apparently expecting that Marty would answer affirmatively. "It's a bit easier to deal with things when they're not microscopic. I had enough with the things in the dust."

"That was Vesuvius itself."

Donna jumped. "My god, can't you cough or something?" She turned her characteristic glare on the Doctor. "When'd you unfreeze?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Not too long ago. I shouldn't be that far ahead of my other self." He glanced at the still-frozen figure. "Can't say I'd do that again if I had the choice, really. It _worked_, but it was a bit risky. I suppose this will be closing the loop, though, so things ought to be stable after this anyhow. And I wasn't frozen, Donna. Just a bit…preoccupied. I was diverting my energies elsewhere."

"You were stiff as a board," she pointed out, not to be outdone. "And _cold_."

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply but changed his tune when he caught sight of Martha. "Blimey, did that happen the first time around?" He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and scanned her, frowning slightly. "No concussion, luckily for her, unless this is acting up again, but that may have been enough to daze her a bit when she comes to tonight. Just as well. Makes explaining things a bit easier. And Jeff," he added, not turning around, "you can probably get up now. Mylith have moved on, which means the Zalvja won't have survived. Marty's right; they're gone."

"You can tell without even bleeping him?" Donna asked. "After all that insisting about needing to get a sample earlier?"

"You can check him yourself; you're holding a sonic screwdriver." The Doctor had pulled out his stethoscope and was giving a Martha a physical once-over, getting a second opinion on the conclusions he'd drawn from the sonic screwdriver's readings.

"And how do I go about doing _that_?"

"You just need the right touch." The other Doctor was mobile now, and he came up behind Donna—scaring the life out of her, Jeff was sure, judging by the look on her face—to pluck the sonic screwdriver from her hand. Seconds later, he was scanning Gilbert Becker. With a smile, he pocketed the sonic screwdriver once again. "Clean as a whistle. And hopefully not too bruised?" This was directed at Jeff.

"He probably gave me more than I gave him," Jeff answered carefully.

Marty glanced at Jeff, voicing their mutual concerns. "What's he going to remember about all this?"

"Hm?" Both Doctors looked at him, seeming distracted from their own thoughts, if only for the moment. The first one replied, saying, "I'm not entirely sure, actually. Don't expect it'll just be a blank. He'll probably know. Not so bad; he won't have anything on his conscience."

"And he won't breathe a word of it," the second one added. "Too British." Looking at his other self, he added, "How's Martha?"

"Bit shaken up," the first Doctor admitted, "but the interaction patterns of the spatial-temporal residues with the natural chemicals produced in the brain will have been realigned by the sonic shattering of the intertemporal barrier, so…." The Doctor trailed off, grinning.

The other beamed right back at him. "So she—? You're certain?"

"Yup. Edge of the blast. Wouldn't have taken full impact otherwise."

"Stroke of luck on our part. Bit rare. Still, not something to question."

"Yeah, didn't get any of that, if you're wondering," Donna said, catching Jeff's glance.

"What do we do now?" Marty asked. "We can't just leave Gilbert Becker here. Nor Martha."

"Martha'll come around and then I can take her home," one of the Doctors replied easily. Jeff wasn't sure which was which now, since they'd both moved from their previous spots to look over Becker themselves. "Well, I say home, but I don't mean home. She'll have to wait until their transport comes back." He looked at the other Doctor, a smirk threatening to break out on his face. "You're back behind bars, I'm afraid, until your twenty-four hours are up."

The other Doctor looked thoughtful, rolling back and forth on his heels, hands stuck in his pockets. "Yeah, I suppose I should get back there, shouldn't I?" He sighed. "Never the most enjoyable thing, being locked up for crimes you didn't commit." He glanced at Becker. "Best take that knife off him, Jeff, before you take him home; no need to confirm what could very well be dreams to him."

Still looking a bit thoughtful, he wandered off. Heading for a back entrance, Jeff noticed. Apparently, even _he_, a supposed lord of time, couldn't walk straight into a police station where he was supposed to be held and succeed in pretending nothing was off.

And at that moment, Jeff realized that he had sided with Marty after all.

It was absolute bollocks, but there hardly seemed to be a reasonable explanation in the first place.

After all, ghosts existed. Why couldn't time travel?

He'd stick with the twin story with Jeannie. That was far easier.

Maybe not entirely convincing, but easier.

The mind seeks normality in the storm of unreason, after all. She'd believe it if he kept insisting on it. And as time went on, her memory would become more muddled. She had her head screwed tightly on her shoulders; in the end, she'd go for the explanation that made sense. The one that _had_ to be true, if only because nothing else made a lick of sense.

And him?

It went against everything he knew—even all he'd learned to accept. It wasn't rational, it wasn't reasonable, and it sure wasn't logical. But somehow, between Marty's needling and Donna's insistences and the Doctor's eccentric actions, he'd been convinced.

At least for the night. Come morning, he'd reconsider.

Jeff found the knife, no longer questioning how the Doctor knew Becker had one or why the man hadn't pulled it during their struggles. Maybe control only went so far. Could a person who didn't _want_ to kill actually be driven to murder someone? Shaking his head to dispel the crazy thoughts, Jeff handed the knife to Donna. She looked at him like he'd lost it. Sighing, he rummaged in his pocket and offered his keys as well.

"What's this for?" she finally asked, taking the items.

"If Martha over there isn't supposed to know you yet, you'd better scarper. She's stirring," Jeff said, nodding in Martha's direction.

"Oh, you _are_ a smart one," the Doctor noted, grinning at him. "Off you go, Donna. I'll send Jeff ahead to warn you if I'm to be taking Martha home immediately. Probably will; shouldn't take long. Then I can nip back here and we'll clear my name as best we can, what do you say?"

"Can you even drive?" Donna studied him sceptically. "I mean, sure, most anyone can handle 1920 country roads, and I couldn't tell if the jostling was the road or the car or your lack of driving skills, since I was a _bit_ preoccupied at the moment, but—"

"Oi!" the Doctor finally broke in, clearly affronted. "I'll have you know I had a car of my own once, right here in London, and—"

"I can take Martha," Jeff interrupted. "Marty knows the address."

"Just as well," Donna muttered, just a bit too loudly to be convincing in that she intended it to be for her ears only. "He probably stole—sorry, _borrowed_—that car, anyhow." Nothing bothering to give the Doctor a chance to retort, she turned heel and moved out of sight.

"How do you plan to clear your name?" Jeff asked, somewhat wary now.

"Oh, just a bit of psychic suggestion," the Doctor replied. With flawless Scottish brogue, he continued, "Chief Inspector James McCrimmon, here to discuss the—" He broke off. "Nah," he said, speaking in his normal voice again. "Liable to slip again, forget who I am. Well. May not have a choice, really. Can't exactly go in as John Smith, private investigator, now can I?" He blew out his cheeks. "I'll think of something. Still. They've already got their hands on the bloke who murdered Lucy Becker, so that may distract them."

"What?" Jeff started, staring at him. "They do?"

"Course," the Doctor replied. "It was the man who had drowned himself earlier."

"What makes you say that?" Jeff demanded. If his case was solved for him….

"I just went back to do a bit of checking." The Doctor frowned. "You know, I'll bet that _that's_ what did it. Jump-started everything, I mean. Checking on the murder itself would have primed it, and then crossing my own timeline twice at once when I went back to where they dragged the body from the river, even if the effects were a bit delayed—"

"You weren't on the scene," Marty broke in. "I watched the whole thing, and I never saw you until I ran into you and Donna afterwards."

The Doctor grinned. "Perception filters work on ghosts, then? Brilliant. Wasn't sure about that, but I chanced it anyway."

Before either Jeff or Marty could continue to question the Doctor, Martha moaned, starting to sit up. That elicited a louder groan, and she slumped back. The Doctor immediately went over to her, talking softly, telling her not to rush. "I know, Doctor," she finally mumbled. "You're preaching to the converted here."

"Don't ignore everything you've been taught, then," the Doctor reprimanded. But he was grinning, and Jeff knew Martha could tell he didn't mean a word of it.

He decided to break in before things dragged on too long. "Do you know what day it is?"

Martha blinked blearily at him. "Who are you?"

"Jeff Randall," he replied simply. "I'm a friend of the Doctor's, and tonight I'll be your personal chauffeur. But more importantly, do you know what day it is?"

Martha seemed to accept the explanation and answered, albeit with a bit of uncertainty, "June 9, isn't it?"

"May 25, by now, actually, but you're near enough," the Doctor chipped in.

Jeff shot him a worried look. "Year?" he prompted.

"2007."

"And on that note," the Doctor broke in, "I think I'll walk Martha over to the car and check up on her myself on the way, just to make sure she knows she's getting about thirty-eight years ahead of herself." He nodded to Jeff, who excused himself—and was thinking he really ought to be rethinking the decision to trust a lunatic like the Doctor—and went to alert Donna, collecting Gilbert Becker's unconscious form as he went. He'd be dropping the man off before morning anyhow. Marty went with him, comparing notes about what they knew about Jeff's case and the likelihood that the Doctor was right.

"Shouldn't you—?" Martha groaned, putting a hand to her head. "No, Doctor, shouldn't you still be behind bars?"

"Selective memory, you," the Doctor said, smiling gently at her. "It's nearly sorted. Let's just say I'm on a temporary leave of absence."

"You just left again, didn't you?" Even though she had phrased it as such, it wasn't a really a question, and the Doctor didn't give her any more of an answer than a smile.

"Careful, now," he cautioned, helping her to her feet. "You don't have a concussion, but you will have a bit of a goose egg. We'll get you some ice for that when we get you settled."

"I can't even think clearly," Martha complained, although it was in a good-natured tone.

"It'll keep you from saying I'm misdiagnosing you," the Doctor pointed out, "even when I'm perfectly right."

"Oh, and you're always right, you."

"Precisely!"

Martha hit the Doctor on the arm, ignoring his good-natured 'ow'. "You'd better fill me in when you get out."

"Well, you won't throw me out if I don't," the Doctor pointed out. "And I can't say I'm exactly sure myself. Well. I was a bit preoccupied during some key moments, I'm sure. Well, I say preoccupied, I mean—"

"And _that_," Martha said, "is probably the one time I've gotten you to admit that you don't know everything."

"Well—"

"I should've recorded it." Martha sighed. "Because I'm sure never going to hear that again, am I?"

The Doctor just grinned at her.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: When it starts to look repetitious, watch the Doctor (both of them), and soon it will all make sense.

* * *

"So you're a friend of the Doctor's?"

"Yes," Jeff replied curtly, hoping this Martha wasn't going to grill him. She'd managed to spend three quarters of the ride in silence, and he supposed that curiosity was finally getting the better of her.

"So what do you do, then? Work in a scrapyard? I can't imagine where else he'd be meeting people. No offense, it's just…." She trailed off, no doubt embarrassed by her assumption.

"None taken." Jeff sighed. He might as well tell her the truth, or at least part of it. "I'm a private investigator. I met the Doctor on a case a few weeks back. Hadn't run into him again until yesterday."

Martha groaned. "What time is it, anyway? I've lost track."

"So have I," Jeff admitted, "but it's early."

"Too early." She yawned, belatedly covering her mouth. "What happened to that man?" She nodded with her head towards the back seat which contained Gilbert Becker.

"Took a nasty blow, just like you did," Jeff replied. "He was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Martha watched him for a moment. "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?"

"It pertains to the case I'm currently investigating," Jeff answered carefully. "I'm not about to disclose any of the details."

"You can trust me."

"I hardly know you," Jeff pointed out. "And even if I did trust you, that's not the point."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Martha settled back against the seat. Jeff rounded the corner, and she sat up again. "Hold on, how did you know where to go?"

"The Doctor gave me directions." And Marty was pointing out the way, but she didn't need to know that.

"Oh." Then, "How much do you know about the Doctor?"

"Slim to nil," Jeff responded. "Seeing as I don't believe half of what comes out of his mouth." He pulled to a stop in front of the building and parked the car. "Will you be all right on your own, or do you want me to come up?"

"Nah, no need," Martha said, smiling. "I have a feeling it's over now, and I missed it. Besides, you've got someone else to look after." Smirking, she then pointed to her head. "And I have to trust the Doctor when he says I don't have a concussion. Just as well, since I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep." She climbed out of the car but paused before closing the door. "Thank you, Jeff Randall. And, just a word of advice. Be careful. Around the Doctor, you can find yourself in any number of tight spots, and one of these days, I think he won't be able to get out of it by himself." She smiled again now. "But that's why I'm here with him. Because he needs someone." She shook her head, thinking of the antics of their mutual acquaintance. "Good night."

"You have a good night, too," Jeff said. Glancing at the sky, which was beginning to lighten, he added, "What's left of it, that is."

"Nice girl," Marty declared as Martha left, taking her spot in the passenger seat.

"Quieter than Donna," Jeff pointed out. "Made a nice change." He sighed. "Back to work tomorrow, Marty. None of this running around blind any more."

"Do you think you'll be able to solve the Becker case?"

"I think I'll have a good shot at it, once I talk to the Doctor again. He knows more than he's telling."

"I'd thought so, too," Marty agreed, "but then, being a time traveller, wouldn't that always be the case?"

Now was not the time to quibble over that; they had more important things to do. Jeff simply let the comment slide, thinking that was best. "I'm not changing my story with Jeannie," he said. "Don't need her thinking there's some other way to contact you."

"Of course not," Marty said, instantly supportive. "But what are you going to tell Becker?"

Jeff frowned. "I thought the Doctor said he wouldn't remember anything clearly."

"Yes, but Miriam Becker seemed like a sharp tack to me. She'll have noticed her husband's absence and will wonder."

Right. "I'll tell her…tell her…. I'll tell her he came out with me, to do some checking."

"She'll want details."

"I can make it up," Jeff replied pointedly. "Look here, we both agree that the Doctor has information, correct?" Marty nodded, and Jeff continued, "Then you'd best go watch him. I want to know what he knows. Anything could be relevant to this case. It can't _all _be circumstantial nonsense."

"After tonight, it's a bit hard to tell," Marty countered, looking a bit sceptical. "Still, you're right. We can sort all that out once we have the case solved." He glanced outside for a moment, gauging their direction. "Good luck with Miriam Becker. I'll pop in afterwards and fill you in."

"Thanks," Jeff answered, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. He was sure Marty was smiling when he went off this time. Still, as odd as things had become, he wouldn't change it for the world. Just like Martha—and now Donna—was there for the Doctor, Marty was there for him. And he'd learned more about friendship in the past year than he had in the twenty before that, and he wouldn't change a moment of it.

* * *

"Martha'll be fine," the Doctor reported, finding Donna easily. Wasn't the best of hiding places, a shadowed doorway, but it worked well enough for its purpose. And the Doctor took it to mean that Donna was indeed recovering nicely from the ordeal in The Library. He knew people who had spent—or are or will be spending, depending on your perspective—the rest of their lives jumping at shadows after finding out about the Vashta Nerada.

Not without reason, of course. If you were foolish enough to spend any amount of time on a heavily infested planet, _not_ jumping at every shadow would be your downfall.

Unless you jumped away from one and ended up in another, and that one happened to be infested.

Then again, if that were the case, you'd never know it.

"Good," Donna said. "But do you care to explain to me how you expect to clear your name when you're going to walk into that police station looking _exactly _like someone they've already got locked up?"

Straight to the point, then. More or less. "We—well, _I_—have been crisscrossing my timeline in a _much_ more compacted manner than I ought to be. Well, technically, I shouldn't be crossing my own timeline at all, let alone crisscrossing it, cheap tricks aside, but I did need to confirm my suspicion. Found out it was the Zalvja, too, in fact, when I did. Terrifying folks to death in their manifestations—"

"Hold on," Donna broke in. "What do you mean, you confirmed your suspicion? When?"

"I went back to the TARDIS earlier," the Doctor reminded her. "I just…took a quick little side trip." Did he look too guilty at the moment? Best launch back into the explanation, then, and see if he could distract her. "I _might_ have gotten us into this mess in the first place, practically priming the situation, providing that one last kick it needed to land us in this mess. Three places at once in the same city and time period in one regeneration, when two of the selves are only a few hours apart—not the wisest of moves, I will admit, especially when the third self is known. Still, time may have been stretched a bit out of place, but it'll snap back once I'm gone—well, _snap's_ a bit of a strong word, gives you the wrong idea about the nature of time."

She was turning a glare on him again; he hadn't even babbled on that much, had he? "_Any_way, that bit of instability will create a bit of a ripple, so to speak; not too much of one but enough to unsettle a few things. More so around the centre of our positioning, since shattering the intertemporal barrier the way you did would have scattered the possibilities, reverberations temporarily reducing possible interjections along foreseeable trajectories to veritable dust. Destabilization to the base possibility," he clarified. "Causes a bit of a mess, but it is a temporary strengthening mechanism."

"Yeah, I'll start listening again when you decide to speak English," Donna shot back.

Could be worse. She could have interrupted him again. Actually, he was surprised she hadn't. He looked at her a bit more closely. She was tired. Not dead on her feet, not yet; still running on adrenaline, partially. That, and determination. And possibly fear. And trust. She trusted him. Just as well; she looked too tired to be doing much else. He'd have to make it up to her for this. He'd have a talk with the TARDIS before they left. She'd understand. She knew as well as he did that Donna needed a break. And he wasn't ready to drop her back with her family, not yet. That wasn't _entirely_ selfish of him. She _had_ just had a visit. Well, not _just_, but….

Humans travelled to get away sometimes. And he had a feeling that's what Donna was doing. If he was to be perfectly honest with himself, that was one of the reasons _he'd_ started travelling. So he wouldn't take her back home _quite _yet. And probably not the trip after that, but maybe the one after the one after that. If she wanted a quick visit. If circumstances presented themselves.

Sightseeing wasn't a bad idea, after all. He could use a bit of it himself. Midnight _did_ have that sapphire waterfall, and he'd heard that it was brilliant. Not that the waterfall was _actually_ sapphires, or at least that was highly unlikely—he wasn't entirely sure, yet; he'd heard conflicting things, some from not very reliable sources, and that was another reason he wanted to go, so he knew which rumours to dispel—but, well, it was still a glorious site, he was sure.

The extonic sun was a _bit_ risky, but if they'd built a resort there in the first place, then there were plenty of places the TARDIS could land them safely. And she'd get it right, once he had a talk with her; even if he didn't, she knew enough to keep him safe, and they looked out for each other, even if she _did_ occasionally get in her head to take him somewhere. Relatively speaking, of course. Point is, Donna would be able to relax. He'd give her most of the morning before trying to convince her to come on the tour with him. That was cutting it a bit close, but he'd spent a great deal of his life cutting things close, so that would be no different.

"Shouldn't be long," the Doctor assured her. "Point is, what with things the way they are, and the time of night, and the mindset of our good Inspector Large, well…. We shouldn't have a problem."

"Right, so you mean we're blundering into this blindly," Donna interpreted as she fell into step beside him. "That's what I figured."

Observant, her. She didn't miss a trick. Well. Just the occasional one, but that was excusable. "Aw, have a bit of faith, Donna. You're not tied to a sacrificial altar this time." Before she could retort—oh, yes, he was sure she had one on the tip of her tongue—he continued, "I'll be able to interact with my other self now—no freezing up. And—"

"So what stops them from locking _you_ up?"

"Well, there's the…. Or the…. Well. Not…much."

"Because they're not stupid," Donna continued. "Doesn't take much to piece together that if you've got a lookalike and it's not the first one, then it's probably the other one. And, knowing you, you were probably saying the entire time that you were innocent."

"There's a time and a place for admitting to something you didn't do," the Doctor acknowledged carefully. "That…was not one of them."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Donna muttered. He opened the door for her and she went inside without further complaint. She'd follow his lead; she was getting quite good at that. Grinning, he trailed in after her.

* * *

"You'd better come see this, Inspector."

Inspector Large looked up at Sergeant Hinds, frowning. "What is it now?"

"That John Smith you brought in earlier—"

"Him again? Carlson still insisting he escaped?" Inspector Large guessed rather grumpily. "We checked the cell; he was still locked in there. Carlson just fell asleep on the job and isn't happy with the consequences."

Hinds looked uncomfortable. "No, Smith just came in the front, insisting he had information on the Becker case."

Inspector Large choked on his coffee. "He _what_?"

"He says he knows who the murderer is."

"And he hasn't said a word about the fact that we're holding _him_ for murder, I expect." Inspector Large slammed the coffee cup down on the desk. "He's secured?"

"Edwards and Tompkins have him, sir."

"What's he playing at, getting the insanity plea?" Inspector Large grumbled. "I don't have time for this." To Hinds, he snapped, "How'd he get out in the first place?"

"That's the thing, sir," Hinds said, sounding almost hesitant. "He hasn't. I checked the cell myself; he's still in there."

"Then who do you have out front?" demanded Inspector Large impatiently.

"He identified himself as Dr. John Smith, says he's from the—"

"I don't care _where_ he says he's from!" Inspector Large snapped. "He very clearly is _not_, and I expect _you_ to realize that and act accordingly!" Did everything have to fall on him? Was no one else _capable_? Had the entire station lost its common sense?

He wouldn't be surprised if Randall was somehow involved. Man had come around asking questions earlier and then sent in Jean Hopkirk to do his dirty work for him. And he'd been handed the Becker case, since Miriam Becker didn't seem to think the police were up for the job.

Inspector Large scowled, tromping out of his office. It wouldn't take long to sort this. They had witnesses at the scene, they had the murder weapon, they'd caught the man red-handed…. Simple. Someone who bore an uncanny resemblance could be dealt with as the nuisance he was, and—

Inspector Large stopped abruptly. His eyes narrowed. The man _was_ the spitting image of their suspect. He opened his mouth to speak, but the man beat him to it, grinning despite being held roughly by two no-nonsense officers. "Hello, there. I'm Dr. John Smith, and this is Donna Noble, my assistant—"

"_Partner_."

"Right, sorry. Partner. New development, bit of getting used to. _Any_way. We're here from—"

"I'm not interested in whatever spiel you've prepared," Inspector Large broke in sharply. "I don't ha—"

"Oh, well, that's fine," the man continued, talking over him. "See, I'd shake your hand, but there's been this _little_ misunderstanding, and I was told you could sort it. You _are_ Inspector Large, aren't you?"

Heaven help him; the men even _acted _alike. No respect for authority, either of them. "What are you playing at, Smith?"

"Aw, don't tell me you think I'm some jailbird that flew the coop, too!" The self-proclaimed Dr. Smith frowned at him. "Even if I was, it wouldn't make much sense to come back."

The woman, Donna Noble, opened her mouth again. "We've come all the way from Reading just because we heard—"

Inspector Large cut in sharply, saying in a disbelieving voice, "Do you really think I'm going to—?"

"Look here, mister," she started again, voice increasing in volume to override him. Woman probably had a good set of lungs on her, if that was any indication. "I don't know what you're going on about, and neither does my partner. _Business_ partner, got that? You think you were holding him and he escaped under _your_ guard? I'd say that's a bit sloppy of you; wouldn't want to admit it in front of my staff like this if it were _me_, but it's a simple matter to check, don't you think? We could clear this up so that we could get down to business. We're wasting time."

Inspector Large didn't dignify the implications with a verbal response. He jerked his head towards the cell they were holding Smith in and started off, followed by the others. Couldn't even one day go by without this nonsense?

Smith looked up when the cell door opened. "Oh, hello," he said brightly. "Come to question me again?"

"I'd like an explanation," Inspector Large said, waving a hand to beckon to Tompkins and Edwards. Dr. Smith was brought forward, and the two did a credible job of gaping at each other as if they'd never seen each other before in their lives. Tompkins and Edwards withdrew, closing the door to the cell behind them. One of them would let the inspector out when the time came.

"Blimey," Smith said, recovering first. "That's a bit of a shock."

Dr. Smith fumbled for a minute, pulling a pair of spectacles out of his pocket—disturbingly identical to the ones he'd taken off Smith, once they'd subjected him to a more thorough search—and perching them on his nose. He leaned forward, still squinting at Smith. "Impossible," he breathed. "It's just…_impossible_."

"Clearly not," Inspector Large said dryly. "So make your excuses."

"Looks like a pair of identical twins to me," Noble spoke up. "Separated at birth, from the sounds of it."

He glared at her. "I don't know how you managed to put this together, but—"

"Oh, c'mon, is it _that_ hard to believe? They've run studies on this stuff for who knows _how_ long." Noble looked at him in disbelief. "What was it, the Jim twins? Bouchard? Ringing any bells?"

"No, no, Donna, no," Dr. Smith corrected as he touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Bit early for that."

Inspector Large hadn't heard of the case in the first place, and he knew as well as anyone that the time of day wasn't at all pertinent. He was about to open his mouth again to finish what he was saying—curse that woman, she had about as many manners as either of the Smiths—when he was cut off before he could even begin.

"You've got a good decade before that," Smith added.

Apparently the time of day wasn't pertinent in the amount of nonsense Smith could spout, either. "I don't want _theories_," Inspector Large sneered. "I want _truths_."

"Technically it wasn't a theory, it was a hypothesis," Dr. Smith pointed out. "But! It's as good a truth as any, I think. Unless you've a better one?"

It was planned. It _had _to be planned. Someone in the station was having a go at him. He'd find out who it was. Oh, they'd set it up brilliantly, he'd give them that, but for wasting his time they'd be wishing they'd kept their ideas to themselves.

"I don't know how you managed to put this together," Inspector Large began, "but—"

"Oh, c'mon, is it _that_ hard to believe?" Noble had interrupted him again. "They've run studies on this stuff for who knows _how_ long. What was it, the Jim twins? Bouchard? Ringing any bells?"

Inspector Large didn't answer her; he was more interested in looking at the Smiths, both of whom shared identical looks of horror. Figures; they must have practiced that for quite a while. Still, he did have to admit it was believable, if only for a moment.

"No, no, bit early for that, Donna," Dr. Smith croaked out. He looked nervous.

"At least ten years early," Smith agreed, looking equally ill-composed.

"I don't want _theories_," Inspector Large snarled as the two Smiths exchanged a look. "I want _truths_."

"Well, that wasn't really a _theory_," Dr. Smith began—almost warily, Inspector Large thought—as he pulled his glasses off his nose and tucked them into his pocket. "More of a hypothesis. Still, it's as good a truth as any, isn't it?"

Well, if he'd been suspicious before, he had good reason now. The way the two Smiths were acting more than confirmed that their earlier display was absolute poppycock. It was a well-planned set up, but whoever was behind it would regret pulling it on him _now_. He had far more important things to be doing.

"I don't know how you managed to put this together," started Inspector Large, "but—"

"Oh, c'mon, is it _that_ hard to believe?" Did no one have respect for authority anymore? That was the second time that Donna Noble had interrupted him, blithering on without pause, and he'd lost count of how many times he'd been cut off since the whole mess began. Smith was particularly bad, and the so-called Dr. Smith was no better, and—

Hold on. When had Dr. Smith taken off his glasses? He'd been watching the two of them the entire time, he was sure. He'd been comparing them, and he had to admit that they were immensely similar. They both looked a little green around the gills now, even. A bit too pale. And when they spoke, their voices had lost the sense of self-assuredness they had held moments before.

Still, visual assessments didn't mean he'd lost the thread of the conversation. "I don't want _theories_. I want _truths_."

Dr. Smith started to argue the point, but the inspector was still studying them with a critical eye. The entire act was believable enough, Inspector Large supposed, but he'd seen a lot over the years. And he'd been convinced of their lie, earlier, when they'd pretended that they'd never seen each other before in their lives. The looks they were exchanging now spoke volumes. "I don't know how you managed to put this together, but—"

"Oh, c'mon, is it _that_ hard to believe?" He was sure he'd seen both Smiths wince when Noble had interrupted him; he would guess that they found her disrespect for authority as appalling as he did if they both hadn't done the same. "They've run studies on this stuff for who knows _how_ long." Wait, was it just him, or was Smith _mouthing_ Noble's words? "What was it, the Jim twins? Bouchard? Ringing any bells?"

"He won't have heard of them, Donna," Dr. Smith cut in, exchanging another _look_ with Smith. "You're a tad early for that."

"And don't worry, Inspector," Smith chipped in, "because we're about to tell you the truth. Well, I say truth, it's more of a half-truth. Well, not even that, seeing as you wouldn't comprehend that."

How had Smith known he was about to demand the truth? Sure, he'd been asking the entire night, but it had never sunk in, not before. Eyes narrowed, he waited. He hadn't spent much time dealing with Smith, but he'd learned that Smith didn't leave things in silence unless he expected to be left alone.

"Thing is, we're caught in a loop," Dr. Smith continued, making no sense whatsoever. "Just a _tiny_ one, probably centred on this room, inactive until we'd reached a certain point. And now, we're breaking it. Or trying to. Not the best approach, this, but quite doable, thanks to Donna's earlier actions."

"Things being unsettled the way they are, it…lets us do a few things that are strictly not allowed under other circumstances," Smith continued. "This included. Well, I say not allowed, but that's putting it mildly. Liable to compact time if you keep at this. And if you compress one part, another's going to expand, but you can never tell where that weak point will show up. Might even turn up in the middle, given the nature of time. It's tricky, in that non-linear, non-subjective, wibbly-wobbly way."

"Point is, we don't have much time." Dr. Smith stopped, frowning. "Funny thing to be saying, really, all things considered, because if we let the loop continue, it could go on indefinitely, but I'd get a bit bored eventually. Well, I say bored, but it had gotten old and more than a little troublesome the second time through, so…." He waved a hand dismissively. "That, or it'd wear itself out, and when it did, something might have been able to slip in. So it's better to nip it in the bud, stop it before it becomes established."

"Best thing is, you're not likely to remember much of this," Smith continued. "Oh, we'll be here, might have to play it through one more time, seeing how things turn out, but if we can keep it up long enough until something else invades the loop, we'll be able to pull ourselves out of our rut and fill it in. Not too hard; just a bit of variation thrown in, gives us a bit of a ladder to climb out on, so to speak. Bridges the gaps. Bit of an effect of the possibility shattering, actually; it has been known to create the odd dent, generally nothing to worry about, seeing as time'll smooth itself out."

Smith paused hardly long enough for a breath before adding, "Well, usually with the help of the Mylith, but they won't be migrating back here for a while yet. Not that I would have expected them to establish a colony here in the first place, but now that it's happened once, it's more likely to happen again. And migrating isn't precisely the right word; they're essentially bacteria, so they don't really _migrate_, but you get the idea. Some more will turn up, replenishing themselves. They're a bit like the bifidiobacteria in the human body, for example, at least for the most part, except the Mylith _can_ be a problem every once in a blue moon, and I do mean here, because blue moons are quite common if you ever go to, say, U'licg'ar Pt'nol'x…."

"Of course," persisted Dr. Smith, not at all alarmed by the things coming out of Smith's mouth or indeed by the reactions of either Noble or himself, since both of them were staring at him and, in Noble's case, had even advanced to a convincing display of shocked gaping, "seeing as this _is_ a destabilisation response, it _is_ possible that you will remember this, and, to take advantage of that, I'm going to tell you about the Becker case.

"First off, those first few disappearances you've heard about but not bothered investigating are false alarms in the first place. Poor circulation of information, that. Well, at least of the facts. Plenty of circulation of rumours. Still. The first sign of trouble for you lot was when your John Doe—real name's Robert Davidson, for your records, but he much preferred Bobby—found himself frightened half to death by the manifestation of one Raymond Miller. And when people see ghosts, any ghosts, even if it's not their own ghosts, well…." Dr. Smith lowered his voice, as if to confide in them. "It can go to their head."

Resuming his normal tone, he went on, saying, "More than a few days of constant haunting, without a wink of sleep or a morsel of food, and it's enough to drive any man half-crazed. And a man's more liable to listen to the voices then, when he's in that state. Promise of peace, of rest—mighty strong temptation. Just one deed, he was told. One _task_." Disgust had surfaced in the voice. Dr. Smith may have found the subject extremely distasteful, but that didn't cause him to stop talking about it. "A re-enactment of a past crime, the rape and murder of an innocent woman, your Lucy Becker, and then he got rest, all right. Permanently. He was told he'd find peace beneath the waves of the river. So eager was he for that promise that he didn't even remove from the body the bit of rope he'd used to strangle the poor girl. But if you look at that rope, it's a bit odd, isn't it? Not really a rope at all. Just a bit of cloth."

"A bit of cloth," put in Smith, "that more than likely matches the material and pattern of poor Bobby Davidson's tattered coat."

"Shirt, actually," Dr. Smith corrected. "Well, more of a jumper, but it was a thin one at that. Coming apart at the seams. More patches than anything else." There was a very tiny pause. "The most recent murder victim was nearly strangled to death, too, before he took a rock to the head. Well, I say rock, it looked more like a brick to me, but I was a bit preoccupied at that moment. Thing is, you haven't been able to identify your latest murder victim, have you? Clarence Early. And he _really _didn't need to die. He was just being primed. For _practice_."

"That's the thing with the Zalvja." Smith picked up the thread of the conversation with disturbing ease. "When they infect a being, they take on some of its characteristics; they don't just use it as a vessel. They merge with it, take control, prey on emotions, slaughter their vessel, and feed in a manifested form until their energy is spent. They burst apart after that, dispersing themselves across the galaxies. Well, the entire universe, really. And then they remain dormant, waiting for the right conditions. They can be in that state for years. Thousands upon thousands of years, just…waiting. Not much in terms of a life cycle once they become active.

"There are times when they _can _sink back into a dormant state, of course. That's what happened here. But then they risk not breaking out of that state. Still. They came out of it a little rusty, but it didn't take them long to find a victim and choose the next host. They just needed to prepare the right circumstances. And that's partially what it was—preparation and practice. Priming the situation, getting all the circumstances in order, readying the conditions for the optimum—"

"Nonononono!" Dr. Smith cut in, seeing Noble open her mouth. "Not a word, not one word, either of you, not until we have this sorted. You're liable to throw us back into the loop if you do. Well, thrown back would imply that we've gotten out of it, and we haven't, not yet. Still intact. We're just…stretching it a bit, now." He paused. "Actually, I'm rather surprised you waited this long to interrupt. Donna might be used to this, and she'll have garnered a bit of sense, but _you_, Inspector…. I must say that I _am _impressed. By now, I'd have bet you'd be calling us—me—a raving mad lunatic, demanding I be locked up with the key thrown away!" He grinned. "Can't say I'd really blame you, given your mindset."

"You don't think I was too rude when I told him that before, do you?" Smith asked, looking at Dr. Smith thoughtfully. "Never can tell. Even hard in retrospect."

"Yeah, can't say I really remember," Dr. Smith said, gazing off to one side. "Haven't let it come back to me. Well, maybe one or two things. Well, more like half a dozen. But not everything."

Smith was the first to notice the glares. "Oh, right, I expect you might want to know how long this will take. Well, it's a _bit_ hard to say. I must applaud your patience—and the fact that you actually listened, seeing as that might actually be a record. Most people, my companions especially, it seems, just don't _listen_. 'Don't wander off,' I tell them, and what do they do? They go off! Precisely because I told them _not_ to! Rose was especially bad, and I'm tempted to think she encouraged Mickey, and—" Smith stopped, a catch in his voice. "Still. All in the past."

"We're not going to get out of the loop until someone breaks into it," Dr. Smith continued, looking just as pained as Smith himself, though it didn't show in his voice. "It's…complicated, in that respect. The thing is, being a loop, it's meant to be closed. But we can't _let_ it close. Each time we loop, it gets stronger. And we _had_ to let it loop a few times, just to be sure. There're a few different types of loops, and.… It's…not that important." He waved a hand. "Point is, we're stuck until someone breaks into the loop, since the resulting fracture prior to the finalization of the closing will shift the ends sufficiently to just cause a little bit of a snag in the timeline, and I'll be able to sort it properly without too much trouble when we get out of here."

"And frankly," added Smith, "I rather hope it's soon, because you two look like you'd like nothing better than to murder us. Not that you would. Bit messy. Circumstances aren't exactly ideal. Poor choice of a location. And, well, it wouldn't stick. Or it shouldn't. Of course, given the proportional factors…." He frowned. "I…don't advise risking it, really. No telling how much you'd unravel. Well. That, and I don't really fancy explaining things. Not any more than I have to."

"Time and place for everything," Dr. Smith put in, "and this isn't it."

"Of course," Smith began, looking as if he'd just considered a new possibility and was eager to share it with them, "what with things being as they are, and the wh—" He broke off, grinning. "Brilliant! Loop broken, feel free to babble."

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" Inspector Large demanded.

"Oh, things are a bit complicated," Smith said, grin fading very slightly. "I take it you remember, then? The explanation?" He nodded, more to agree with himself than to acknowledge anything else. "Must. Would've started off with something else first otherwise. Actually, you might've tried to carry on the conversation, in which case you would've asked me what _I _was going on about, which, granted, wouldn't be much different from many of our previous conversations, but—"

"If you think for one moment—"

"Oh, of course I don't expect you to _believe_ me," Dr. Smith interrupted. "Not that you'll admit, at any rate. I just think it's rather a credit to you for listening to me go on for that long without breaking in."

"Granted, I didn't leave you much time in terms of opportunities," Smith acknowledged. "Didn't really want to. Bit risky. High stakes and all. And, well, I didn't really fancy having to go through all that again. I was rather counting on it, I think, that you'd remember it. Wasn't I?"

"Oh, yes indeedy," agreed Dr. Smith, grinning like a loon.

"But, wait, hold on." Noble looked, he thought, more confused than the situation warranted. Seeing as she wasn't a professional, though, it didn't matter. She was as much of a liar as either of the Smiths. "You're saying we were looping? Like a record or something?"

"Until it was interrupted, yes."

"But I don't remember that."

"Of course not. You remember the last circuit around the loop. The others were rewritten. Well, not _rewritten_, exactly, but you know what I mean."

"Overwritten," Smith supplied. "Time was overwritten. It still exists. It's just been buried. You remember the top layer."

"I think this mess is giving me a killer headache," Noble muttered, shaking her head.

Both Smiths stopped and looked at her for a moment, and then they repeated her gesture, shaking their heads. "Now, look here," Inspector Large started before anyone else had a chance to open their mouths. "I expect you to hear me through!"

"We're listening," Dr. Smith said, looking surprised. "What gave you the idea we weren't?"

"I do not have time," Inspector Large growled, "to be entertaining _fools_! This is serious business. I—"

"Really? Never would have guessed." Dr. Smith winked at Smith. "C'mon, Donna. Places to go, people to see. And our good friend here knows all I can tell him. And John Smith there can fill him in if he forgets; he has a good memory, I'm sure, except when things need to be forgotten."

"But…but…." Dr. Smith's actions were clearly unexpected by his so-called partner, if Noble's reaction was anything to go by. "I thought we…. Didn't you—?"

"Nah, not much time left—hardly twelve hours. And the wait won't kill me." Dr. Smith knocked on the door to the cell. "We're finished," he called. "All a bit of a mix-up; nothing to worry about."

"Tompkins, don't you _dare_ open that door!" Inspector Large roared.

"It's not Tompkins, it's Edwards," Dr. Smith admonished. "He doesn't mean it, you know," he added. "He just wants me moved to a different cell. Doesn't want to keep us together. Thinks we plan things."

"_What_?" Noble lost what little composure she'd maintained. "You are _not_ going to get yourself arrested and—"

"Nah, not going to get myself arrested," Dr. Smith said, charging out the door the minute Edwards had begun opening it. "Follows orders, there's a good chap," he added to Edwards. "Good skill when you're in law enforcement." Turning back to Noble, who had followed him, Dr. Smith continued, "He doesn't have any evidence, anyway. And once he pieces together everything I said when we were stretching the loop, well, he'll realize he doesn't have a leg to stand on. And his time will be up."

"But what about Lucy Becker? And her father?"

"I, well, John Smith back there can fill Marty in now. Jeff can check for the evidence. Case closed. And Gilbert will be fine; Jeff would have taken him back once he'd made sure Martha was all right. Ol' Gil Becker will be out for a while yet."

Hold on. Marty? Inspector Large stopped in his tracks. What were they going on about? Who was this _Marty_? First person to come to mind was Hopkirk. The man had been nearly as meddlesome as Randall, but no one deserved to die in the pursuit of justice like that, even if it was considered a job hazard by some. But that thought was absurd. Hopkirk was dead and gone, buried six feet under.

"So it was Marty who came, then? Broke the loop?"

"Yup. Lucky thing, too. Don't know how long it would have taken otherwise." Dr. Smith blew out his cheeks. "Onwards and upwards, Donna. We'll be heading on."

Inspector Large made no move to stop them and they continued down the hallway. It wasn't worth the effort to follow up on a practical joke. After a few minutes—probably more like thirty seconds, actually, but it felt longer—Noble spoke. She seemed to have simply accepted everything that had just happened. It would have been unnerving if he hadn't thought she'd been in on it. But even with a change in topic, their conversation _still_ didn't make any sense. "You never changed your trainers, you know," Noble said as they rounded the corner. "You're still wearing the red ones."

"Am I? My mistake." A pause. "Proves my point, though. Mind in a crisis."

"Yeah, yeah, just don't go on about it." Another pause, this one longer than the last. "Where're we off to, then? Nyxa 4?"

"Nah, we can see sunsets on most any planet. Beautiful resort on Midnight, and it has this sapphire waterfall…."

He needed a vacation. Dammit, he couldn't be expected to take the stresses of the job this long, not when he had to deal with people like Randall and Smith. It would drive any man to his wit's end. He generally liked to think things looked better in the morning, but this time it had only gotten worse. Scowling, Inspector Large went to get himself a fresh cup of coffee. It had been a long night, and he had another long day ahead of him, and he'd dealt with enough nonsense in the past twelve hours to last him a lifetime.

_Fin_

* * *

A/N: I was banking on Donna's reputation for knowing useless trivia. But, more to the point, we've reached the end of the story, and it's been fun. At least for me. I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed, as it's always much appreciated.


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